A Learning Experience
by Margot11
Summary: How would things have been if Harry had got to know Snape and his Snakes better? A 'Harry in Slytherin' story. Don't groan; it's not that bad! Warnings: mention of sex later on (very mild); typical teenage swearing (mild) and corporal punishment (not graphic or extreme). (Note: the beginning is heavily inspired by Asterix Tutnix.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N 1** My surname is not Rowling, but I am immensely grateful to her for the enjoyment she's brought to my life. I love playing in her world and have had so much fun writing this.

 **A/N 2** Neither is my surname 'Tutnix' though the first two chapters are based on her wonderful "The Other Side' story. It's a fanfic of a fanfic!

 **A/N 3** I'm very unfair to Seamus and Dean (amongst others), but I'm also a sucker for a happy ending - they'll come good in the end!

 **Chapter 1: A Learning Experience**

 **9pm, Saturday 31 October, 1994**

"I wonder, headmaster, if you've given any thought to the feelings of my house?"

McGonagall had the decency to look shamed by that. The same could not be said for Dumbledore.

"Young people adore change, Severus; it will be quite a treat for them to have someone new in the ranks."

"A treat?! It will be seen as an insult; it should be seen as an insult! Potter has managed to get his name into the Goblet,"

"Now, now Severus, I'm quite sure Harry wasn't responsible for that."

"Then perhaps the ever-irritating Miss Granger on his behalf? Nevertheless, he has contrived to break school rules yet again. And he smashed the hourglasses!"

Dumbledore took a sideways glance at Snape.

"I'm surprised that upsets you. I never felt you had much faith in our points system."

"I don't. But as everyone else does, how could this possibly not be perceived as an insult? Apparently time spent with my house is the equivalent of detention or being stood in the corner."

"Oh, but he is not being punished …"

"Then he damn well should be!"

"I believe a … 'learning experience' is what Mister Potter needs, and I have nothing but confidence in your ability to provide it. Shall we settle on tomorrow evening for the changeover? Excellent!"

Severus collected himself enough to nod a familiar signal to McGonagall, which she returned.

"Headmaster." He said, and turned to leave.

 **oOo**

Snape swept down to the dungeon so swiftly he imagined he'd shaved a clear three seconds off the time it would have taken to floo. Which defeated his purpose of foregoing magical transport in the first place; namely to calm down, mull matters over, and think of a way he could make the calamitous news work for him. As he rounded the granite column he spied four Slytherin first-years giggling and daring each other to ask silly questions of the portrait, Licorus Black.

"What exactly are you doing here?"

"Being impertinent, that's what!" Answered Licorus Black, "See to it that you whip them well!"

Snape ignored the cantankerous old fart in the portrait; he was too busy regretting his abrupt tone. These weren't the ones he was annoyed at. He was annoyed on their behalf. A few seconds passed until Astoria Greengrass spoke.

"Umm … some of the older ones said we were too noisy to play in the common room, sir."

"Miss Parkinson I'm sure, along with her constant companion, your sister." Severus softened slightly. "Go in. You know I don't like you playing alone outside at night."

He ushered the first-years through the stone door before attracting the attention of Daphne and Pansy.

"Misses Greengrass and Parkinson? Might I remind you that the common room is for everyone? If you're unhappy with that arrangement, you may go to your dormitory and stay there for the rest of the evening."

He then caught the eye of Armitage-Brown and jerked his head to summon him outside. The senior prefect of Slytherin House made his way there with dutiful alacrity, but so too did Adrian Pucey. Snape couldn't for the life of him fathom why he'd made Pucey a prefect. Still, he happened also to be one of a handful of Slytherins that tested to the limit his determination not to play favourites.

"Those four were outside. You know what first-years are like; at any moment they could have taken themselves off who knows where. Keep a closer eye on them, Delingpole especially."

Armitage-Brown nodded his understanding.

"Very well. Certain matters have arisen this evening. I'll speak to all the prefects when arrangements have been finalized. However, you'd do well to inform your housemates that if they wish to pass a comfortable weekend, they will follow my rules to the letter. It promises to be a trying time for all."

Pucey grinned.

"But after the weekend, it's back to being your usual indulgent self, is it sir?!"

"You are aware that prefects are not exempt, are you Mr Pucey?"

"Absolutely sir. You've reminded me often enough!"

 **oOo**

The potions maker dropped the leaping toadstools into the wormwood infusion. It was a combination that was apt to be volatile in lesser hands, but as with so many areas in his life, Severus had worked hard to bring control to the unstable ingredients. And as intensely as Dumbledore's sham psycho-analytical witterings annoyed him, he conceded privately that this urge to make the chaotic predictable had indeed started with his father, who had had the constancy of quicksilver and a vicious fist to go with it.

The turmoil of school had ceded way to his Death Eater years. It had brought Voldemort into his life - the one individual who could make his terrifying father seem benign. Turning away from those dark days brought him back to Hogwarts. A head of house at twenty-one and entrusted with the care of seventy children. What had the old fool been thinking?

He had floundered that first year; both he and his Slytherins limping to the end of summer term amid brawling and bullying. But a chance remark by the headmaster had seen Severus spend that summer contemplating his nest of Snakes, analysing the problems and putting measures in place. The following autumn brought with it not only the start to a new academic year, but the bracing winds of change. The Slytherins didn't know what had hit them - both figuratively and literally. Severus seized control; transgressions were met with prompt correction. And the children he had once found whining and spiteful, Severus began to like and care for.

And now this … the 'little chat' that Dumbledore had mentioned so casually after the feast; the 'little chat' of which he'd so rightly been suspicious; the 'little chat' in which he'd been told that Potter would be joining Slytherin House for the rest of the term. That little chat had shaken his well-ordered world; shaken it and turned it upside down. Severus inhaled deeply, noted the pleasing colour change in his potion and tried to take comfort in having controlled the erratic energy of the toadstools - though it was a small victory compared to the Hagrid-sized spanner Albus Dumbledore had just thrown in the works.

 **oOo**

 **Friday October 30, 1994**

In hindsight, the torrential rain on the journey back to Hogwarts had been fitting for what had been an awful start to the fourth year. Ron had got annoyed as they were unpacking their school trunks. Noting Harry's latest Weasley jumper wasn't there, he'd mumbled something about it not being good enough but he didn't mind tagging along with them to the World Cup. Harry had been too tired to tell him Dudley had trashed it. Ron's grousing continued the next day when Harry forgot a scheduled game of Wizard's Chess, but worse than that, Ron appeared to have co-opted Seamus and Dean into his petty 'Harry thinks he's too good for us' campaign.

Even the excitement over the upcoming Triwizard Tournament was used against him. Dean started it - saying one lunchtime that Harry must hate the tournament as it meant he missed a whole year of showing off in the Quidditch Cup. Ron laughed and began speculating on how Harry might draw attention back to himself. Were there any other monsters lurking in Hogwarts waiting to capture the all-important Harry Potter, Ron wondered. Harry forced a smile - knowing if he objected, he'd be ridiculed for not being able to take a joke.

But that afternoon, all hostilities became a thing of the past as they entered the potions classroom united to face the common enemy …

 **oOo**

"As the making of this antidote demands multiple steps, I am not hopeful of success." Snape prowled the class. "However, I am duty bound to at least allow you to try."

"Not duty bound to encourage us though." Muttered Harry to Ron. Part of him felt grateful to Snape; the man was such a colossal bully that he and Ron couldn't fail but fall back into their friendship - if only for mutual support. But that boon was soon withdrawn.

"Potter, you will partner Miss Bulstrode for today's lesson."

Millicent looked up briefly, then bowed her head - not so Harry and his twin companions.

"Sir! I wasn't doing anything wrong!" Harry cried.

"You can't do that!" Said Ron, whose objection was followed by a pleading Hermione.

"Really, Harry hasn't done anything, sir!"

"Ten points from Gryffindor. Weasley, Granger - see me after class."

Of all the Slytherins, Harry found Millicent to be one of the least repellent, and mid-way through making the potion he spoke to her.

"Why don't I have to stay behind? What's Snape up to?"

"He's teaching, Potter. Just do as he says."

Why bother, he thought; you're all the same. Millicent tried to show him how to hold the bat spleen for splicing, but she'd annoyed him with that comment and he refused to watch.

 **oOo**

Hermione sat nervously hugging her satchel as Ron tried out aggressive stances and glowered at Snape's back. Harry dawdled over his packing up, however, there's only so many times you can rearrange three books, four sheets of parchment and two quills in a bag without it becoming obvious your intent is to linger and eavesdrop, and with a puzzled shrug of his shoulders, he turned to leave. Three steps towards the door and Snape's quill stilled.

"You dare to suggest that working with Miss Bulstrode is a punishment for Potter? How astonishingly arrogant you both are."

Harry spun around.

"They're my friends; they were just sticking up for me! Have a go at me, not them!"

"You've just cost your house another ten points with that outburst." Replied Snape, "And you have no further business here today. Close the door on your way out, Potter."

Snape left his desk and advanced on the two fourth years, his prowl making a mockery of Ron's posturing. Pulling a stool to the front of the workbench, he sat, interlaced his long fingers and spoke with the type of softness usually reserved for a sleepy child's bedtime story, but which coming from Snape, chilled Hermione to the core.

"For your information, the pairings I made today were not intended to be a reward for my Slytherins; I did not gift them a noble Gryffindor partner as a treat. As it happens, they are all well-practised in splicing bat spleens quickly enough to add before the shrivelfigs disintegrate. Though judging from the grey sludge you handed in Weasley, you obviously chose not to avail yourself of Nott's expertise."

"Why didn't you…?"

"I'll have no more questioning of my decisions. That self-importance has already earned you both detention here tomorrow at half past two and a further deduction of ten points. Each. Dismissed."

 **oOo**

 **Saturday 31 October**

Snape's mega points-grab happened to coincide with the slowest accrual of points Gryffindor had ever known. The teaching staff was more focussed on how the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would affect classes than rewarding good work and the dismal reality was that Snape's contribution meant the Lion House was now in points deficit. They all blamed him. Potter had felt it on Friday night as his housemates trooped past the empty points jar to greet the visitors. That, combined with whispering which fell silent when he entered a room, had put him right off lunch and driven him up to the owlery. He came down at 2pm to say goodbye to his friends and apologise once more for their detention. He was too late. Snape had brought it forward by thirty minutes and they were gone.

"Couldn't even be bothered saying cheerio to Ron and Hermione." Said Finnegan, "They carry the can and he gets off scot-free."

Potter couldn't listen to that; he grabbed his jacket and strode to Hagrid's hut. The groundskeeper was out, but Fang wasn't and he spent an hour being slobbered over.

But the unpleasantness of the Gryffindor common room was nothing compared to the aftermath of his name shooting out of the goblet. Hermione had been shocked - almost as much as he had himself. But Ron … Ron had given him a look that said ' _You utter, utter bastard_.' Compared to the cheers for Cedric, the silence of the Great Hall slapped Potter around the ears when his name was called. If there was ever a time he needed his friend at his back, that was it. His eyes searched Ron's face, but all he got was a disgusted shake of the head.

 **oOo**

Walking up to the Gryffindor common room that night, Potter felt nervous. Opening the door, he realised he had every right to be so.

"Forget about him Ron, some people just live to show off." Dean was saying. "Of course he'd slip his name into the goblet."

"Oh no, he didn't do that! His name 'mysteriously' appeared." Said Seamus. "Well, here's hoping he 'mysteriously' falls flat on his arse in the tournament; it'll be justice well served!"

The start to the term had been awful, but this was too much. A vicious flick of Potter's wand saw Finnegan sailing up into the air, turning several loops and falling to the ground on his backside so hard it made everyone in the common room gasp. Potter couldn't move until he saw the boy rise awkwardly with the help of Thomas and two fifth-year girls. He slowly turned towards the door and took in the disapproving faces of even Fred and George. Just about to apologise and try to explain himself, he found himself overcome with a deep weariness.

His adventures since the first year had been exhilarating, but they took a toll. He loved Hogwarts yet he couldn't help wondering where the professors had been in his life. Aunt Petunia might be dreadful, yet she always knew where Dudley was. Where was anyone to look after him? Mrs Figg had been bloody useless; too concerned with her cats to notice he was barely fed. And what else did he have? Perhaps a few hugs twice a year from Ron's mum. Where were his teachers whilst he was off battling trolls and basilisks?

Of course, the dishonourable exception to all of this was bloody Snape. He was always lurking, poised to take points or give detention. Ron suspected he was always there because he was the root of all the trouble; even eminently sensible Hermione had sympathy with that view. But Potter? He wasn't so sure. Did Snape want him dead, or did he just wallow in his misery?

He couldn't think any more; he needed to get outside. He'd pinned so much on this weekend of new arrivals and feasts; felt certain that it would mark a turning point in the dismal term. But what had happened? He'd found himself entered into a suicidal competition and lost forty points. Hurtling down the last flight of stairs, he arrived in the entrance hall and saw it, the stand with the four hourglasses. In them gleamed a healthy dose of sapphire, a good showing of emerald, a yellow puddle at the bottom of the Hufflepuff jar - and clear glass for Gryffindor. Sodding Snape! He caused all this. But though it was a comfortable enmity to wallow in, it was one which was being prodded by another thought.

Points! All the snarky comments and nasty looks from supposed friends were over points. For crying out loud! He'd earned three times as many points in his first year as Seamus had in his whole school career - yet he was still the villain! He hadn't felt so frustrated and enraged since Aunt Marge had taunted him back in Surrey.

He wasn't even aware of it happening. One second his body was bristling with impotent rage, and the next he was staring at shattered glass all over the hall floor. But it felt glorious, it truly did - until something warm rubbed his legs and he heard the soft scrape of leather soles on stone as Filch raced over to see what misdemeanour Mrs Norris had uncovered.

 **oOo**

It all happened so quickly after that. Minerva ordered Potter to his dorm while she met with Dumbledore. He didn't like disappointing his headmaster, but he took comfort in the fact that he genuinely liked and cared for him. He just wished that Dumbledore, like McGonagall, would sometimes notice he was having a rubbish time before disaster struck. And disaster was a fitting word for what happened next. Potter was summoned to Dumbledore's office and told the awful news. Intra-Gryffindor relations were now at an all-time low and he'd hurt the whole school with his act of wanton vandalism. It was therefore decided that he should be removed from Gryffindor for the rest of the term.

"You're sending me back to the Dursleys?!"

"Not at all, not at all." Soothed Dumbledore. "You will spend the rest of the term in another House. Slytherin."

It was an odd and entirely new sensation to be homesick for Little Whinging …


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The First Evening**

Minerva McGonagall kept tight hold of what was under her robes. It certainly wouldn't do to drop it or let the students see what she was carrying. Pulling up her skirts lest she trip down the narrow stairs, she cursed her colleague for relocating his quarters to the dungeon. Horace Slughorn had never dwelt down there. Indeed not. A timely endowment from a Slytherin Old Boy had seen Headmaster Dippet offering him a plum set of rooms on the first floor.

"Oof!"

First-year Malcolm Baddock ran straight into Minerva .

"Mister Baddock!"

"Sorry professor!"

Plaintive eyes stared up at her and Minerva softened in a heartbeat, letting the child pass with a reminder to walk inside. Outside the door, she tapped her wedding ring against the hidden cargo and prepared what to say. The door opened too soon and all her ideas flew from her head.

"I'm so sorry Severus! I'm just at my wits' end."

"Never mind the histrionics; get in."

She followed him through the office and into his study, pausing as she saw the strategically-placed chair.

"I hope that's not there for my benefit!"

"Depends." Joked Snape, "Did you manage to snaffle it?"

Minerva pulled the triple distilled single highland malt from her robe and Snape's eyes lit up.

"Then, no. I won't be needing the chair."

Albus Dumbledore might well have been the most gifted wizard of his age, but he could also be infuriating to work for. It had become Minerva and Severus' practice, when both aggrieved by him, to sneak the bottle of scotch he kept. They would drink away their cares, replace the contents with a miserable firewhisky and toss a coin as to who put it back in the cupboard. That Albus himself didn't care for whisky - he much preferred the sugary charms of raspberryade - and that he only kept the supply of single malt to appease these two feisty heads of house never once occurred to them.

 **oOo**

Minerva plunged into the sofa; feeling every one of her seventy-four years. She watched as Severus replaced the Slytherin Lower School's least favourite chair under the table when it dawned on her who'd been the recipient of his attentions.

"Oh Severus, poor Baddock! What could he have done? He's always so well-behaved in my classes."

"He behaves in class because I insist on it." Replied an unmoved Snape, "Have you ever considered that?"

A misgiving belatedly crept into her mind. "I hope you're not going to treat Potter …"

"Oh, no, no, no! Don't you start laying down conditions; Potter comes to this house without fear or favour. Now pour the scotch and give me a full explanation of why he is coming here."

"I didn't see what he did to Finnegan …" 

"You should try visiting your common room occasionally."

Minerva ignored the slight.

"But when I heard of it," She played again with her wedding ring, "Well, you know what it reminded me of."

He did, but he had no desire to talk of James Potter.

"In many ways I failed James. He outgrew his arrogance but had I dealt with him properly he would've been a lot better sooner and not harmed others like …"

"Yes, yes." Snape replied. "This still doesn't explain why Potter is moving lock, stock and barrel into Slytherin for the rest of the term."

"I believe it's what the Muggles call a 'circuit breaker' …"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"A circuit breaker is something that disrupts behaviour that's quickly becoming entrenched."

"I know what it means Minerva. I'm just surprised you do."

"Well I do, and I think all of Gryffindor needs it! That child is vengeful. I don't know why; he won't speak to me. The atmosphere is dreadful. And, unlike Albus, I happen to think he does deserve punishment for attacking Finnegan and launching a Confringo at the hourglasses. I can hardly take points after the latter …"

"So being sent to Slytherin is a punishment?"

"Being sent anywhere would be a punishment. Had he a normal family, I'd suspend him for a few weeks, but I can't send him back to those dreadful muggles. In any case, you're ignoring the fact that Albus and I obviously hold you in high regard by asking this of you. I don't know how you did it, but you took the most vicious house and made it compliant."

"You know how." Replied Snape, gesturing to the chair.

"Oh, there was more to it than that. And you were so young! We never even considered Pomona or Filius. Actually not true. I considered Filius, but Albus insisted on you."

"And my gratitude for that is immense." Snape rolled his eyes, and then let them snap back to McGonagall. "So whilst I'm baby-sitting Potter, what happens to the children in Slytherin? Yes he has a difficult home life, but so do many of my children; you know that. And there's the Delingpole situation."

Minerva watched him glance at some parchment on the table, but she could never make out Severus' scrawl at the best of times - least of all when it was upside down. She decided against asking him what his concerns were. Despite her surprising friendship with the ex-pupil whose intensity she'd often found intimidating, she still baulked at enquiring about matters Slytherin. That bloody house was a shrine to secrecy.

"I know the timing isn't good, but it wasn't of my making. If need be, I'll take Potter back immediately."

Severus didn't respond to her offer and she tapped his knee and repeated herself.

"I may need some time away." He said.

He didn't explain further, but she didn't expect him to.

"I'll keep an eye on Potter." She offered.

"You'll watch the Slytherins also?"

"Of course! I care for the well-being of all our students!"

Her offended tone didn't move him, but neither did he choose to argue with her assertion. He had no energy for an argument and though he knew his Snakes garnered the least affection from any of the professors, he let it go. He drained the contents of his glass and poured them both another before waving the bottle in front of his guest.

"We're not tossing a coin tonight; you're replacing this. And, by the way, how did Potter take the news?"

"How do you think?"

 **oOo**

 **Sunday 1** **st** **November**

The evening had brought a damp cold with it and Potter sat on the window seat tracing his finger through the condensation on the glass. He finished the ' _t_ ' that sat next to its companions ' _s_ ' ' _h_ ' and ' _i_ ' and nodded in agreement. His life was shit. Did Dumbledore really like him? He wasn't sure now. Slytherin? How could he have placed him in Slytherin?!

Who knew what went on in Slytherin? He'd heard all the rumours ranging from Snape indulging their every dark whim to his ruling them with a rod of iron. In his second year, he'd sneaked down there with Ron, but only Malfoy had been about, all the others presumably packing for the Christmas hols. Or off torturing kitchen elves; he was unsure which. His memory of the common room was dark and austere, very fitting for the people that dwelt there. Even the kindest, warmest adults he knew, Mr and Mrs Weasley, had nothing but undisguised contempt for Salazar's house. And Hagrid had been warning him from the start that it was the breeding ground of evil.

The handle of McGonagall's study creaked and made him jump. He rubbed his elbow over the profanity on the window as she stepped into the corridor.

"Ready?"

Seventeen different responses zoomed into his head. No, you stupid cow! How could I ever be ready for this?! Or should he feign stoicism, all the while letting his eyes show the betrayal he felt? Run away and hide? Beg? Could he pretend to faint on the stone floor, and concuss himself into the bargain? With any luck, he could see out the term with Madam Pomfrey. No. As usual, his ideas were rubbish, so he plodded along in the wake of her furiously clicking heals.

She delivered him to Snape's office and suggested he be informed of the rules he'd have to abide by.

"You are now in your fourth year; I am quite sure you know Hogwarts' rules, do you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"However, I am remarkably less sure of your capacity to obey them. Perhaps your little sojourn in Slytherin will help with that?"

You complete and utter bastard; this is going to be hell, thought Potter. "Yes, sir."

"Perhaps, Professor Snape, there are some rules and consequences that are particular to Slytherin?" Said Minerva.

Snape could feel his colleague itching to find out how he ran his house. It put him in a playful mood.

"Professor McGonagall is right, Potter. Take a seat while I explain how this house runs."

Potter wanted nothing more than to clamp his hands over his ears and block out the world. McGonagall, in contrast, perched on the nearest chair, eager to learn about the secretive house. Severus withdrew several sheets of parchment from his drawer.

"Potter, these are," He rolled the parchments and tapped them on his palm. "No. On second thoughts, I have a better idea. Go into the common room and enquire of your new housemates what the rules are; it will be a little 'ice-breaker' for you. I'm certain they'll give you a full, if not lurid, synopsis of the consequences."

As Minerva drooped in disappointment, Snape handed Potter the sheets of parchment, which turned out to be his new study timetables, and gave him a shove to the door. Once he was out in the corridor, Snape took a handful of his robe and yanked him back.

"By the way, there will be no fraternizing with Gryffindor."

"Only for the first week! To help you acclimatize." Minerva called out apologetically.

Snape stooped to eye level with his newest Slytherin.

"You got us all into this mess, and I won't have you running back to your little chums at the first opportunity."

Potter thought about what he'd left up in Gryffindor Tower.

"Don't worry sir; I don't think they'd have me."

Snape's eyes shifted to a figure standing behind the fourth-year.

"Flint, take Potter to the common room and show him the password."

 **oOo**

The setting was different, but nothing had changed. He could do this, he decided. It was no worse than being locked in his cupboard and listening to life going on around him. At least here he could see it, too.

He looked about the common room and tried to find fault but, apart from the fact he actually had to be here, there was little he could come up with. He tried to recapture his memory of austere coldness, but he couldn't. If anything, the huge room seemed mellow and welcoming with honey-toned stone walls, aged leather furniture, antiques aplenty and deep piled rugs. To his left were armchairs with warm, tungsten yellow reading lights floating above them. The upper years favoured this area, but Harry noticed an obvious first-year perched on the lap of one as they read a magazine together. Opposite were long tables with housemates of all years playing a variety of games from backgammon to cribbage. He even saw Vincent Crabbe positioned at a smaller table inviting people to take him on in a game of chess. Vincent Crabbe! Slytherin's grand master of chess! Harry had to bite back a bark of laughter at that thought.

"Good evening, Potter. I'm Armitage-Brown, head prefect here. You had supper, I take it?"

Potter nodded at the tall seventh-year. They'd never spoken before, but he was aware of him - not least because Lavender had decreed he was 'dreamy' and twittered on about him endlessly, thrilled that they shared the same surname.

"Good. The evening is yours to do as you wish but, considering the circumstances, perhaps it might be best if you stayed here. Is there anything you'd like to know?"

He knew what Armitage-Brown was getting at, but he was buggered if he was going to appear keen to learn Snape's sodding rules.

"I'm fine." Potter fudged. "I've spoken to Professor Snape."

The head prefect's greeting led to a smattering of people saying hello, but no one engaged him in conversation. He thought back to the previous night when he'd imagined all sorts of bizarre happenings awaiting him in Snape's house. The most vivid was himself tied to a granite column as Snape lined his students up and graded them on their ability to cast stinging hexes. But in a way, this nothingness was even crueller. They were all going to hate him, he knew that much. But what form would their hatred take? Then again, perhaps this was it. Being ignored once again. Marcus Flint had left as soon as he'd shown him into the common room. Even Snape, the one person in Hogwarts that always outstayed his welcome in Potter's company, had been keen to turf him out of his office.

He should have asked about the rules; he knew that. But how different could they be? Slytherin was still part of Hogwarts - a hideous, mostly-hidden part like some mad, old relative that was so scary she was locked up in the cellar. But it was part of Hogwarts. And anyway, he could just imagine the helpful responses he'd get - 'You must break curfew at least three times a week'; 'Assignments are optional'; 'Tease a Hufflepuff until they cry on the first Tuesday of every month' - hang on, that last one didn't sound so far-fetched.

The door to the common room opened and Tracey Davis stepped inside. Potter's heart surged. Tracey had once been kind to him in the second year, lending him her Potions textbook when Snape had been in an extra-specially irate mood and he'd forgotten his. Ultimately, the kindness had come to naught - Malfoy 'casually' enquiring where Tracey's book was and causing Snape to do a full inventory of textbooks to students. He'd got detention and Snape had hissed something into Tracey's ear that had caused her to blanch. Thinking back, Malfoy had also been hissed at and he'd blanched twice as much. Anyway, he was getting off track. The point was he was on the verge of waving to Tracey from his lonely pew when Cassius Warrington called her over to where he was standing with a gaggle of younger girls.

"Hurry up, Tracey! This lot are stamping on my feet so much I'll have to learn how to walk on my hands!"

He watched as Warrington caught Tracey's hand and pulled her into an embrace in readiness to demonstrate some dance steps to the second-years. With a wave of the older boy's wand, an ancient gramophone extended a spindly arm, stretched out its forefinger and placed its fiercely sharp fingernail into the groove of a record. The noise was tinny and scratchy and not a patch on Dudley's sub-woofers, but it didn't half look like fun.

Warrington dipped Tracey and she squealed in delight. Potter had to turn his gaze to his magazine - lest he whimper in yearning. He held the pages to his face to keep her wilful taunting from view when a small hand appeared from underneath.

"Harry Potter! Pleased to meet you! I'm Archie Delingpole."

Harry let go of the magazine and shook hands.

"Do you love it here? It's great, isn't it?!" The small boy enthused.

Is he taking the piss? Actually, he didn't seem to be. He seemed oddly zealous in his fervour for Slytherin. Harry could only manage a feeble "Is it?" in response.

"Yes! You're never lonely here; there's always someone to play with and something to do! Would you like to play Exploding Snap, or maybe have a toffee?"

He went with the toffee option and realised that no one was watching them. Here was an opportunity to probe. It was painful for him to say the next words but he forced them out anyway.

"Yeah Slytherin seems … erm … great. But are there any bad things about being here?"

Archie screwed his face up in thought.

"Well, some of the other houses can be a bit mean. Two boys hissed Malcolm and I at the sorting; it was scary."

Potter felt bad. He hadn't liked George and Fred's antics at the time; now he wished he'd said something.

"What about Professor Snape?"

"Oh, he said that people who say and do mean things don't like themselves much, and we ought to ignore it and behave as we know we should."

What a sodding hypocrite.

"No I meant what's Snape like with his Slytherins?"

"He can get a bit cross."

Was he surprised or not at that? Potter was unsure. Imagining Snape being 'cross' wasn't a stretch - but with his precious Slytherins?

"Don't play pranks; he hates that. And share your sweets. Do your homework and never ever be rude to other professors - he goes bonkers if you do that. And try not to earn notes from the prefects because then …"

"Archie! Come on! We've been waiting for ages!"

Malcolm Baddock yanked Archie away and Potter almost ran off with them, so keen was he to learn about these 'notes'. But joining in with first-year fun would make Malfoy and his cronies howl with delight. He picked up his magazine and pretended to read, all the while pondering what form Snape's 'going bonkers' took, and what notes were.

One piece of good fortune was that Malfoy was keeping his distance. The prospect of having to rub shoulders with him had been even more unpleasant than having Snape as his housemaster. He feigned rolling a stiff neck and caught sight of his nemesis explaining how to cast a severing spell to first-years. He's probably making them pay him, thought Potter. Either that, or he's going to send them off to cast it at unsuspecting Gryffindors _._ However, his puzzlement at Malfoy's seeming generosity was interrupted.

"Hello Harry! I'm Astoria Greengrass, but you can call me Tory. Pick a number."

A small girl with pigtails bounced onto the sofa next to him. He looked down and saw she had her thumb and forefingers jammed into a paper fortune-teller. He picked number 6, then chose orange, followed by hippogriff. The diminutive blonde pulled open the flap and relayed his future.

"You're going to marry when you're twenty-four, live in Armenia and have seven children."

"Seven? Is that all?!" Laughed Potter.

Oh, has it come to this? Grateful to first years for speaking to him. But he was. "Can you lend me that to take to Divination? It looks a lot easier than tea leaves." Potter joked. But the first year didn't really get it and just handed over the fortune-teller.

"Divination? You're taking that?!" Adrian Pucey, sitting at a large round table, turned in his seat to address Harry, "Snape will love that! Ha! We all have to take Arithmancy or Ancient Runes."

Potter never thought he'd feel like defending Professor Trelawney, but on the point of starting to, Adrian turned his chair to face him directly.

"What's it like?"

Pucey's question seemed genuine.

"Rubbish!" Replied Harry with a shy laugh.

"So's Arithmancy! Slightly more highbrow hogwash, but hogwash all the same. I … I always wanted to take Muggle Studies."

Potter gave him an enquiring look. "Never dared. The old boy would skin me alive!"

Just then a loud crash sounded from the other side of the room; Archie, Malcolm and Alicia Mayhew had knocked over a vase. Pucey went to investigate.

That seemed to be his conversational lot for the night. His head began to loll; the drama of the last week was suddenly catching up with him. He let his eyes lose focus and the surrounding sounds became an indistinct buzz. His torpor was broken by some sharp whisperings, and he squinted to see Pansy Parkinson pushing Daphne Greengrass off her chair and over to him. Though obviously reluctant at first, Daphne flicked her blond hair and gained purpose in her approach.

"Don't go getting any ideas, Potter. Prefects have to speak to people; it's their job. Chatting with my little sister and Archie is about the best you can hope for in here. The rest of us aren't going to share anything with you just so you can run back to Gryffindor and spill everything. Oh poor Potter! All alone without Little Miss Know-It-All and the Carrot Top. Never mind; you can sit with the firstie girls and braid hair!" 

"That's enough, Daphne." Armitage-Brown had grown curious and wandered over to them. "You know what Professor Snape said. One more word and I'll give you a note."

Daphne looked over to Pansy, who seemed to prompt her, "We don't, and we never will, like you."

Despite all the horrid thoughts he'd been having about the Slytherins, Potter felt a stab of pain at that. Pansy Parkinson was vile, but he had a bit of a crush on Daphne; she'd always seemed a little vapid but not nasty, and she was incredibly pretty. He hoped his face didn't betray his upset and pondered instead on what this note was that Armitage-Brown was threatening to give her. Potter never figured it out because the next moment there was a scuffling of feet as everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and stood up. Unsure of what was happening, he followed suit.

He didn't register who it was at first. Without the academic gown swirling in the wake of his long strides and the highly-tailored frock coat, Snape looked … well … normal. Of course, his 'normal' was still a variant on intimidating. He'd occasionally seen McGonagall divested of her formal teaching attire; it had seemed to shrink her until she looked like one of the kindly grandmothers that waited outside primary school. Potter had liked that. But Snape's stature was in no way diminished. Something else was off, too. Or rather, something wasn't 'off'. He screwed up his eyes to look.

The hair! That was it! And he smiled at how appalled Ron would be at the distinct lack of grease on The Git's crowning glory. And why hadn't the Slytherins noticed anything? Pansy bloody Parkinson could usually be relied upon to comment on any change in a person's appearance - invariably followed up by a withering put-down along the lines of 'a person may change the frame, but the portrait remains as lacklustre as ever'.

Rule One, noted Potter, stand up when Snape enters the room _._ The man's a megalomaniac! The long, black-clad legs stalked the ranks of the still-standing Slytherins. Potter was watching them when he realised they'd headed in his direction and stopped.

"Settling in?"

Nope, and never will. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Earlier on your housemates and I had a little 'chat' …"

Snape up in Gryffindor? Oh God, he means the Slytherins. Potter felt a mixture of homesickness and nausea. Snape continued his smooth drawl as his eyes roamed the mass of Snakes.

"… a little chat about the virtues of inclusivity. You will learn Mr. Potter, as my house already has, that I take a dim view of having my edicts ignored. A very dim view when I find it necessary to give 'a reminder'."

Though the utterance had been addressed to him, Potter had the feeling Snape's attention was elsewhere - and he was glad of it, for the man looked more displeased than when Neville was clattering about the potions classroom bumping into cauldrons and exploding everything in sight. He was right, he realised, as he watched Snape's eyes end their roaming and settle on Daphne Greengrass. The blonde seemed to shrink a whole foot. Suddenly, Snape began striding out of the common room.

"A few moments of your time, Miss Greengrass." He called as he reached the common room door, "And you too, Miss Parkinson."

Once the girls had made their inglorious exit most of the upper years sighed in relief and sank back down into sofas. But quite a few of the younger years waited a moment and then poked their heads out of the stone doorway, sniggering as they tiptoed down the corridor to Snape's office.

"Get back inside." Demanded Armitage-Brown, "There'll be a silencing charm - and you know how Snape rewards prurience anyway."

Seemingly the reward for prurience wasn't a thing to be coveted, and the stickybeaks hopped back inside smartish. Potter wasn't surprised that Malfoy was among their number.

"Not prurience, AB - just a bit of comradely concern!" Quipped the blond as he passed the prefect.

Armitage-Brown rose a disbelieving brow, "Tell that to Snape; I dare you!" and landed a clip to the back of Malfoy's head, mussing the platinum perfection. Potter enjoyed that exchange, but he didn't like it when AB, as he seemed to be known, came and congratulated him on not having shared everything with Snape. He gave a nod to the prefect and inwardly fumed - I'm not a bloody Slytherin! I know about loyalty; I'm a Gryffindor!

All eyes went to the door when it opened to admit Daphne and Pansy ten minutes later. The room fell silent as they walked straight to Potter.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier; I was wrong. You're in Slytherin now, and I'll treat you as I would any other Slytherin. I hope you'll forgive me." Said Daphne.

"Erm … yeah. Of course." Potter thought her face seemed a little different, something about her eyes … but with his glasses, forget it. Pansy pushed the toe of her shoe into the carpet and worked herself up to speak, "Me too." Then her eyes darted nervously to the darkened corner of the common room, "I was rude. I'm sorry and I won't do it again."

"Okay." Potter said and resumed his covert watching of the common room.

"Have a seat girls!" Boomed Gregory Goyle, pounding the sofa cushions on either side of him like an excited baboon.

"Ha bloody ha!" Said Daphne, making her way to the dormitory corridor.

Once you'd had a tongue-lashing from Snape, you were sent straight to your dorm, Potter surmised. Another rule and consequence he'd figured out for himself. Good. No need to ask a Snake for help. Daphne and Pansy continued crossing the large common room trying in vain to remain aloof at all the amused looks and offers of a seat they were getting. Daphne gave up, put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes at them.

"Well?! I only said what you were all thinking!"

"Exactly! Here's to Daphne not bothering to think and blurting it out instead!" Called Malfoy and a cheer arose.

"By the way, how many?" Asked Zabini.

"Get lost! I'm not telling you!"

"You have to; it's vital information for the well-being of your fellow Slytherins!"

The girls ignored them and carried on their way until reaching the stone steps that led up to the dorms. They didn't look back, but Pansy paused and called out,

"Nine."

"Nine! Hell's bells!"

"I warned you he was in a foul mood." Said sixth-former Sophie Blishwick.

"Nine?! Don't worry, Potter. Teasing's over - I'm not getting nine for you!" Assured Malfoy.

Yeah right, thought Potter. And what was 'nine' anyway? Nine detentions? No. Even Snape wouldn't overreact that much - the teasing had been nothing really. Harry and Ron would have dished out much worse had they had a Snake forced on them in Gryffindor, and Merlin only knew what Fred and George would have done. Lines, Potter decided; that was it. Snape loved handing out lines. Nine poxy inches of lines; was that all he was worth?! Of course it was - it was a Slytherin having a go at a lowly Gryffindor. The only surprise was that they'd been told off at all, and not had their names put forward for head girl.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N 1 Thank you so much to Phoenix6975, michalmil and 'guest' for leaving reviews. In answer to one query, there are many more chapters. I'm just a bit of a technical nitwit and ticked the 'completed' box by mistake.**

 **A/N 2 Another mistake was the title. It was supposed to be called 'Harry Potter and the Mirror of Merlin' - I so wanted a cheesy title! Never mind. Also, apologies for the individual titles not appearing in the chapter box (I dislike only numbered chapters).**

 **A/N 3 I'm going to post two chapters today to help people get a handle on where the story's going. I hope you enjoy them!**

 **Chapter 3: The First Night**

Here it was. The bit Potter was dreading - the fourth-year boys' dorm.

"Cramped in here, isn't it?" Said Malfoy.

"Not as comfortable as it used to be." Agreed Theodore Nott.

Potter leant in the doorway and surveyed the acres of space on offer. He was tossing up the merits of saying something versus just ignoring them when a voice sounded over his shoulder.

"Shall I pass on your complaints to Snape?"

It was Adrian Pucey. He'd shut them up alright, but was he going to sit on the end of his bed all night? What was going to happen when Pucey left?

"You need to shower, Potter, and pronto. Lights out in eight minutes." Informed the prefect.

Once Pucey had gone, Potter considered making a snide remark about the ten thirty bedtime, or indeed any designated bedtime at all. Butten thirty! He'd been up later than that washing dishes as a seven-year-old. Then again, it was much better to be in bed than have to wait for this lot to start giving him grief. He took a rapid shower before racing to the bathroom door - something told him that either the tyrant of the dungeons would be along to check, or he'd send one of his minions. The door wouldn't open. From the other side he heard muffled snorts of laughter, and then, "He's coming!"

No need to guess who 'he' was. Potter braced his left foot against the wall and pulled. Pulling on a door that suddenly offered no resistance, he fell flat on his back and looked up into the eyes of Professor Snape.

"I believe you were told lights out was at 10.30?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then what are you doing on the bathroom floor?"

I thought I'd sleep here, you daft sod. "Slippery, sir."

"Go back into the bathroom and brush your hair, Potter. Go to bed like that and it'll look even more disreputable in the morning than it usually does."

Snape waved him off to the mirrors above the basins and closed the door. Turning around, he eyed the five Slytherins that were abed, sheets and eiderdowns pulled up protectively to their chins.

"Did you happen to speak to Misses Parkinson and Greengrass earlier?" He enquired.

"Yes, sir." Came the wary responses.

Snape nodded at them and with a swirl and flick of his wand, a double strength stinging hex simultaneously hit five backsides.

 **oOo**

Even in the dim light of the dorm, he could make out the rubbing that was going on under the bedcovers. Not that that didn't happen in Gryffindor occasionally, but it certainly wasn't a communal activity. And then he noticed it was backsides being rubbed. What was going on here; had Snape walloped them all?!

"Thanks, Potter." Called out Crabbe between rubs.

"Why are you thanking him? It was his word against ours!" Objected Malfoy, who had refused to rub in Potter's presence and was grimacing with the effort of restraint.

Theodore Nott snorted, "Because Snape would've believed that door jammed; we always manage to fool him, don't we?!"

"We are thanking him," Stated a faux-condescending Zabini, "because Slytherin honour demands it!"

"Slytherin honour!" Repeated Goyle.

"Fraternity!" Called out Crabbe.

"Noblesse oblige!" Yelled Nott.

"Wankers!" Huffed Malfoy, and Potter couldn't help but give a small laugh.

The temporary Slytherin climbed up into bed certain he wouldn't sleep. But his body still retained the heat of the shower and it wasn't long until it had warmed the cool, smooth cotton sheets. He felt himself drifting off.

"I'm not saying thank you Potter, so don't go getting any ideas." Whispered Malfoy. "But I did notice you didn't say anything to Snape."

Big of you, thought Potter. And then he thought some more; compared to the way he and Malfoy normally spoke to each other, that was actually quite big of him.

 **oOo**

The morning of Monday 2nd November played out thus for H. Potter; he woke up and whispered a string of obscenities upon realising the events of the day prior had not been some hideous nightmare. It was all true; no one had slipped an illegal substance into his pumpkin juice; he hadn't been hallucinating. He truly was in Slytherin House. Next he berated himself for thinking that the 10.30 bedtime was a good idea. Yes, he'd had the best night's sleep of his life, however, he had never, nor would he ever, be giving any kudos to Snape of all people. Annoyed with himself that he felt so mentally and physically alert, he almost whooped for joy when Pucey popped his head round the door to tell him that there would be 'inspection' in five minutes in the common room. Hooray! He knew that all Slytherins were nutjobs and here was proof.

The Snakes stood on the common room steps and chatted until Snape entered. He walked the ranks pointing out any uniform deficiencies - a top button undone here and a tie incorrectly knotted there. Amazingly no comment was made to Potter, though that could have been because he was stood next to Vincent Crabbe, who wore his uniform with all the style and panache of an unmade bed.

Once Snape had had his fill of finding fault, he moved on to issuing notices. The nature of the notices had Potter recanting all previous thought that The Git went easy on his house. He listened with sinking heart as Snape droned on; if he was this hard on his precious Slytherins, what would he be like with him? The third-years were reminded that Monday night was their library study group - and Snape had better not hear any negative reports from Madam Pince. A first-year by the name of Alicia Mayhew had earned herself five nights of early bedtimes. She was currently three down with two to go. Late to bed, Snape informed her, and the whole five nights would begin again. A curly chestnut head bobbed furiously up and down demonstrating understanding of her housemaster's words. Madam Sinistra, Snape explained, had been busy in the Astronomy Tower until midnight last night. As such, he only received word very late that three second-years had spent Sunday afternoon getting up to no good. The housemaster was sure he didn't need to name names; the guilty parties knew who they were and they would, he was certain, make their way to his office the second classes finished that day.

"One more thing …"

Bloody hell, thought Potter, what now? He's already told off half the house for not dressing smartly enough, threatened the third-years, harangued a first-year and spelt out that three second-years were getting a ton of lines; surely even by Snape's standards that was enough for a Monday morning? But he was too quick to judge, for the next notice had him almost skipping with joy.

"I have some important matters to attend to, and I need to leave Hogwarts …"

Oh yes! That'll do nicely! Thank you very much! Potter was grinning so widely he was in danger of snapping a tendon in his cheek. Snape noticed.

"Perhaps I should pause a moment - to allow Mister Potter to turn a few cartwheels, or dance a jig?"

Crabbe laughed but the Mayhew girl along with Tory Greengrass and another peered in rebuke at Potter. He did feel a little bad; they looked distraught at the news. It still wasn't enough to wipe the huge grin off his face, but then something else did that for him; Snape informed everyone his absence would only be temporary. The girls broke rank and seized Snape around the waist. Potter thought he was hallucinating; who on God's green earth jumped for joy at the news of Snape's return?!

Snape batted away his fan club and glared them back into line.

"All of you heed me well …"

He paused before whipping out his wand to point at the mass of students. Sodding hell, he hexes them! Well, maybe he did, but not that time. That time Snape used his wand to guarantee attention - by means of sharp raps on various heads.

"The Bloody Baron will be keeping an especially vigilant eye on you. Licorus Black is in his perpetually foul mood and will gleefully report any wrongdoing, and Armitage-Brown, indeed all the prefects, are to be obeyed. To. The. Letter."

Harry then felt the urge to launch into joyous song when Snape revealed the head prefect was taking his potions classes, AB being somewhat of a protégé it seemed. Brilliant! Thought Potter. The twelve inch essay The Git had demanded on the common characteristics of antidotes was still stubbornly hovering around the two and a half inch mark despite Potter having exhausted all his knowledge. AB might seem a bit prissy and particular but he doubted he'd hand out detention for a short piece of work. He tried not to smirk as Snape continued banging on. Schoolwork was to be completed scrupulously; curfews and lights out were now more sacrosanct than ever and any report of bad behaviour would mean an extra-long trip to his study, "and all that that entails". Harry wasn't sure what that was, but it sounded grim.

"Of course, if I am away and hear any reports of mischief, I can always floo back. Take a few moments to try and imagine my displeasure should I find it necessary to do that." He softly and scarily advised.

 **oOo**

And so began his first week as a Slytherin. It was neither an unspeakably bad week, nor a great week. It was a week of standing on the sidelines and quiet observation. And that was the problem. Nothing to do but watch and ponder didn't serve Potter well at all. Like all lonely people, he was apt to think too much. Everyone was laughing at him; he was certain of that. How could Dumbledore and McGonagall have done this to him? Ill treatment he could take in his stride. Putting him on half-rations or cuffing him for no reason didn't faze him; as long as he had activity in his life, he could mentally adjust and carry on. More than that, he'd developed the art of the seemingly polite smile undercut with a barely perceptible sneer - designed to withdraw any justification for further bullying from his tormentors while at the same time, infuriating them.

But he didn't need those survival skills now. No one set a tripwire on the stairs to watch him tumble painfully and foolishly into the crowded common room. Chairs weren't pulled away as he went to sit down; he still grasped the seat just in case, but it never happened. There was no need to pretend not to be hungry - not a single person spat on his food. The childish caper with the bathroom door had been the only initiation thus far. He kept himself hyper-vigilant, but as the long days drew on, he realised that that might have been it.

All a bit ho-hum, really. There was some polite conversation at meals, mostly prefect-led. He made sure he sat facing the windows with his back to the other tables. He didn't want to see people pulling faces or mocking him. But the only unusual noise he heard was the shriek of ecstasy as news swept through the breakfast tables that Armitage-Brown was teaching Snape's classes and Lavender Brown went into meltdown.

Classes were uneventful. He sat on the Slytherin side of the room, yet a little apart. The professors had been briefed about Potter's 'acclimatizing week' and they let him exit the classroom first. Perhaps they were fearful he'd go mental again and attack more Gryffindors? The thought of them all sitting in the staffroom discussing him made him squirm. Despite popular belief, he hated being the centre of attention.

Potions class was different. AB was certainly able, and the work that Snape had left was completed with the minimum of fuss. Imagine that? A potions class without sneers, insults or diabolically unfair punishments. It was at this point in the week that he thought he was going the tiniest bit loopy because … well … to be honest, it all seemed a little tepid. One plus, however, was the reaction of his housemates, "That jammy sod! He gets moved to Slytherin and Snape buggers off!"

When classes had finished and meals were over he spent his time in the common room watching the world around him. Not that he was ignored; he wasn't. People nodded hello and moved over to make room on the sofa for him. Pansy still scowled, though she didn't push anyone else to say mean things to him. He saw Malfoy sizing him up occasionally, but he wasn't hexed in the middle of the night.

As a matter of fact, Malfoy often looked over in his direction. And he was usually alone; Potter hadn't expected that. He spent some time with Crabbe, but when Goyle turned up, Malfoy seemed to grow bored or irritable. At one point he was certain that the Platinum Ponce had beckoned him over. He suspected a trap and looked away. When he looked back, he saw a red-faced Malfoy stalk from the common room.

But some people were pleasant. Blaise Zabini lent him his copy of ' _The Red Badge of Courage'_ ; it seemed Snape insisted his Slytherins read - muggle writers included. Archie Delingpole and his first-year crew were friendly and kind - if you could call pestering someone to play fourteen rounds of Exploding Snap per day a kindness, that is. He had a feeling young Archie was a bit spoilt, but was old enough to realise that children didn't spoil themselves and though Archie was indulged, he was also a gentle soul. So, that was about the size of it - evenings spent playing snap, the occasional more mature conversation, but mostly watching and piecing things together.

He lingered in the common room one evening before supper, curious to see what was on the notice board. No way on earth would he let himself be seen actually showing any interest in it, but all the same, he was. Vincent Crabbe had a notice pinned up asking for chess partners; there was a bubble charm competition for the lower school on Wednesday night; Millicent Bulstrode apparently ran a muggle book club, this month's offering being _The Diary of Anne Frank_. His eyes flitted to a poster for something called 'Whole House Night' due to take place on Friday - a picnic supper in the common room followed by a treasure hunt around the castle. He so wanted to sneer at these and the many more notices, but Potter had been lonely for enough of his short life to realise the value of fellowship. Still, he made sure to school his face into an expression of supreme indifference by the time he caught up with the rest of the Slytherins.

Once they got over missing their housemaster - Potter couldn't fathom that one at all - two of the more excitable first-years, Alicia Mayhew and Malcolm Baddock, decided to thumb their noses at their 9pm bedtime. He watched them creep down the dormitory stairs and slide along the back wall to the corner where the games were kept. He said nothing. At 9.50 prefect-on-duty Sophie Blishwick spotted them and ordered them to bed, but they were having too much fun.

He pretended to be immersed in ' _The Red badge of Courage'_ as the small pair darted under tables and scrambled over sofas to evade Sophie. Suddenly Malfoy and Nott turned from their game of cribbage and snared Alicia and Malcolm, "It's okay, we've got this." Called Malfoy. Potter watched as the Platinum Prat slung Malcolm over his shoulder and told him he was impressed with the display of civil disobedience, but he'd be even more impressed if they did it with Snape around. "Just because we're first-years doesn't mean we're insane!" Malcolm replied. Yeah, thought Potter, typical bloody Malfoy - encouraging a pair of harmless first-years to get in trouble with Snape. But even he didn't believe what he was telling himself.

On another evening Warrington came into the common room and rounded up the second-years. They followed him into the potions classroom where he was going to practise making a Wideye Potion with them. So that's why the Slytherins are so good at Potions! That's not fair; that's cheating! Next he felt a bit sorry for them; how would he have felt if Percy had dragged him off to transfigure an old sock into a teapot? Then he thought of them all scurrying after Warrington and realised they enjoyed it.

He found out that once classes had finished, afternoon tea was served in the common room. That must have been an Armitage-Brown innovation; no way would Snape do anything so thoughtful. It was all rather civilised and pleasant, Potter reflected, as he sat and nibbled a slice of walnut cake. What wasn't so pleasant was then being expected to do prep, and even worse were the constant enquiries from prefects - 'Are you on track?', 'Do you need me to explain anything?', 'Shall I check it for you?'. No, no and no. Just because he'd been booted out of Gryffindor didn't mean he was ready to be turned into a Slytherin charity case.

On Thursday he decided to give the common room a miss, and took himself off to the library - not to bother Madam Pince with any book requests, but to sit and let the events of the term swirl around his brain. And that's what caused him to finish his first week in the hospital wing. He'd learned during the week that Slytherins ate together and made themselves presentable before doing so. A glance at the clock told him he was late. Bugger! He had to get a move on - not because he found the thought of eating without first washing his face and combing his hair unfathomable, but because he'd also recently learned what the note business was about. Three notes in any one calendar month meant a trip to Snape's study. "And then what?" He'd asked Adrian Pucey. "Well, it's not for tea and crumpets!" Pucey had laughed, "Sometimes it's six, but the average is four - or three if he's in a good mood."

Sheets of parchment, he realised. No one bothered giving four inches of lines - you could have them finished before you left Snape's study. He wasn't fearful of getting four, or even six, sheets of lines. But he could just imagine the glee on Snape's face as he gave them out, and he wasn't about to hand such an easy victory over to The Git. He grabbed the strap of his satchel and leapt off his chair - only to trip on the hem of his cloak and crash headfirst into the solid oak table leg.

 **oOo**

He was the only one in there. He wished he could get word to Hermione to visit, but most probably the Snape-McGonagall 'Acclimatizing Decree' was still in effect. Mind you, if he couldn't have Hermione then Madam Pomfrey wasn't a bad substitute. She was soft, warm and gentle and come to think of it, Hermione would probably be horrified he'd donged his nut in the library and distracted the swots from their study. He realised that for all his first week as a Slytherin had been remarkable only in its humdrum ordinariness; it had still managed to be exhausting. He was worn out from learning new routines, piecing bits of the puzzle together and just all the incessant watching and wondering; who knew life as a bystander could be so tiring? It would do him good, he decided, to have a bit of quiet relaxation, and so it was for the first time ever that he pretended to be sick when he wasn't.

Poppy Pomfrey was ready to release Potter back to classes on Friday morning. He forced himself to look excited, sprang out of bed, wobbled a bit and assured the Mediwitch he was certain the wooziness would stop by lunchtime. "Get back into bed, you silly boy!" Poppy had shrieked. And there he stayed until Sunday afternoon. At first he did nothing; just lay in the starched bed linen and let his mind focus on the unimportant and the inconsequential. But doing nothing exacts a toll, and so it did with him. His mind started going places he wished it wouldn't.

Where was Snape? I don't care! But he did. I get slung into Slytherin and he pisses off! Bloody hell! What am I saying?! It's great that he's not here … isn't it? Last Saturday night he'd worked himself up into such a state imagining all the terrible, awful things Snape was going to do to him - and then the bastard didn't even have the decency to stick around. Potter felt oddly let down. It was a bit like reading ' _Frankenstein'_ with no monster, or watching a re-make of ' _Psycho'_ with the Norman Bates character written out. Not that he would ever suggest Snape was a psychotic monster. No, no, no. He was far too respectful of professors for that. But there was a certain edginess, a certain thrill that was missing.

And if Snape could wriggle out of the arrangement, why couldn't he? He polished off the last potato from his roast dinner and thought on the symptoms of brain damage. They couldn't be that hard to fake, surely? Madam Pomfrey had been alarmingly easy to fool on Friday morning. If he got his act together, he needn't go back to bland, uneventful Slytherin at all. He could take up permanent residency in the hospital. Ha! In your face, Dumbledore and McGonagall! Laughed Potter to himself - and then something dark edged into his vision.

"Are you still malingering?!"

Wherever he'd been, he wasn't there now. Snape was back and Potter soon found that he had no time for contemplation or idle observation; he was far too busy being swept up into the life of Slytherin House.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter4: Week Two**

 **Monday 9** **th** **November**

Most people would think the tight schedule of showering, dressing, grooming, satchel-packing, uniform inspection and notices would leave a person fatigued. But that Monday morning Potter realized all the rushing about left him energised and ready to face the day - until he remembered that the 'acclimatizing week' was over and all bets were off. He was about to face his old housemates - and they were allowed to talk to him. Would they talk? Or would they laugh, jeer, throw half-eaten kippers at him? Taking the bull by the horns, he sat facing his old housemates and across the tables a row of Gryffindor heads dipped. The exception was Hermione, who smiled warmly and waved. Miles Bletchley nudged Potter, "Good for her!"

"Alright. Enough of the mystery. Where did Snape disappear to last week?" Demanded Pansy Parkinson.

"Dunno." Answered Gregory Goyle.

"I know you don't; I was asking the prefects."

Pucey looked to Latimer, who looked to AB, who shook his head. Pansy saw the tacit exchange.

"I don't see why you should know and we don't. If you won't tell us, we'll just have to use the Listening Cupboard."

"No you won't, not this time. If anyone goes in that cupboard and eavesdrops, I'm telling Snape and you'll really be in for it. He needed to see some people and that's all I know. Tell you what, Pansy; go and ask him yourself if you want more information."

Heads turned to head table and saw the familiar glowering face. Interrogating their housemaster wasn't an enticing option. AB started chatting with fellow prefects Latimer and Sophie Blishwick. Pansy scowled at the back of his head and poked out her tongue.

"What's the 'Listening Cupboard'?" Asked Potter.

"It's how we knew you weren't a spy for Dumbledore." Said Nott.

"Why would Dumbledore send a spy into Slytherin?"

"Wait until you've been here a bit longer." Said Millicent Bulstrode.

"But what is the Listening Cupboard?"

"Wait until you've been here a bit longer." Repeated Millicent.

So that was how it was; they spoke to him, but they didn't really trust him. Potter was honest with himself and decided he didn't blame them one bit. But a chance to eavesdrop on Snape? Now, that was interesting. He was diverted from his thoughts by Zabini tapping the table to secure an audience.

"Judging from this morning, I'd say he went on a training camp to nurture the inner tyrant in every boarding school housemaster!"

"I know!" Agreed Daphne, "An even earlier curfew; he's going potty!"

They were referring to Snape's pre-breakfast chat when he revealed his new rules concerning the evenings: no lone wandering of the castle without informing a prefect or himself. Curfew brought forward by half an hour for each year and first-years banned from walking the castle alone after dinner. The common room had been bristling with objections and Potter had felt quite smug that he was only a temporary Slytherin. He'd grown up being confined to his cupboard at the Dursley's; he could cope with Snape's mad regime for the 44 days until the Christmas hols.

But as he spent time at the breakfast table, his smugness diminished the more he listened to the Snakes. They seemed normal. They didn't want an earlier curfew and they cringed at what other houses might say if they found out. Malfoy took the opportunity to have a pop at him.

"Better keep your mouth shut, Potter."

He expected it; he'd have said the same himself. But it was still nice when Zabini, Daphne and Millicent came to his defence, "He's one of us now. Remember?" Only for 44 more days, thought Potter. He didn't say it, though. In fact, he was chuffed they'd told off Malfoy and he turned and grinned at the Platinum Pillock.

 **oOo**

"Ruddy hell, he's smiling now! Smiling at Malfoy!"

"What do you want him to do, Ron? Sit there weeping?"

Hermione was concerned for Harry too, but she was tiring of the progress reports on his every facial expression and change of posture. Ron sat with an open Charms textbook on its spine in front of him. From this, he peered around at thirty second intervals to clock his friend and gauge what was happening.

"He's faking!" Ron decided, "Just playing along to keep them happy. We'd best catch up with him before we go to classes and check he's okay."

"We'd planned to do that anyway." Answered Hermione with a sigh.

 **oOo**

"A word, Mister Potter."

Any smile that Harry may have had on his face following the surprisingly pleasant breakfast soon disappeared as Professor Snape tapped him on the shoulder and pointed him back to the now empty Slytherin table.

"What is your prep status?" Snape asked.

"My what, sir?"

Snape didn't elucidate; instead he drew in a breath and spoke.

"Weasley and Granger get out from under that table at once!"

The pair shuffled forth on hands and knees, and then rose to stand shamefaced.

"We … umm … we … er … we wondered if we may have a word with Harry, sir?"

"You may do as you wish later but you will not eavesdrop on a private conversation. Get out."

Snape resumed his grilling of Harry.

"Prep status is obviously a foreign concept to you. Did you, I wonder, enquire of the Slytherin rules with your new housemates?"

"Yes, sir."

"So you are aware that lying carries a particularly firm penalty?"

Potter gulped. "Yes … sir."

"Shall I have you repeat the rules to me now?"

Potter's eyes suddenly widened.

"Trust me when I tell you that it will serve you well to know them. As it stands, you are new to this house and as such, I will give you a free pass on poorly completed work just this once. Should you receive censure from your professors over substandard work, I will not add to their punishment. This is a one-off, Mister Potter; you are in Slytherin now and you will do your utmost to promote our house."

Get stuffed, thought Potter.

"There are some bits of work I might have rushed." He confessed, "I'll finish them off tonight."

"You will."

I just bloody said that!

 **oOo**

"We don't have much time; are you alright?" Hermione asked.

"Course he is! Now give us the skinny on Slytherin!"

"Ronald!"

"Oh come on, Hermione! He must be dying to tell us how horrible it is there!"

He could feel Ron itching to hear tales of Slytherin foulness and possibly a recount of how he was forced to clean every lavatory in the house with his toothbrush - and then do his teeth.

"Let's meet tonight." Suggested Harry.

"What time and where?" Asked Hermione.

"I'll come and meet you by the window seat at the foot of the Gryffindor stairs at eight."

"You won't be able to, mate." Said Ron. "Old McGonagall's only gone and changed the password."

That felt like a kick in the guts, and his face betrayed as much.

"The Fat Lady's always had a soft spot for you; she'll call us." Said Hermione.

 **oOo**

One good thing about a Monday was that he didn't have to share any classes with Gryffindor. Because Hermione and maybe Ron aside, he wasn't sure how friendly his former housemates would be. Nothing had happened at breakfast, but he was surrounded with prefects then; no way would Seamus and Dean take on a seventh-year like AB.

Malfoy continued to keep his distance in classes. Potter sat alone as usual, but then Millicent Bulstrode plonked herself down beside him and somewhere along the way an unplanned apology fell out of his mouth for ignoring her attempt with the bat spleens. 'Apology accepted' Millicent said, and the pair went on to have a good day.

The dinner conversation was monopolized by Pucey taunting everyone as to the identity of his mysterious date for the evening.

"It's Monday night. Who has a date on Monday night?!" Asked Bletchley.

"The type of person who simply has too many women and too little time!" Crowed Pucey.

"Is she tall or short?" Asked Marcus Flint.

"Hmm … quite short."

"Eye colour?" Demanded Warrington.

"Brown … rich chocolaty brown." Pucey oozed.

"Personality?" Daphne asked.

"Very friendly, kind and understanding."

"If you were to buy her a necklace," Asked Pansy Parkinson, "would you buy one with rubies, sapphires, emeralds or diamonds in it?"

"Ooh! Clever question!" Said Pucey, "I think she'd like a diamond necklace."

"It's Professor Sprout!" Snorted Malfoy, "Pucey's got himself a hot date with fat, old Sprouty!"

"That's another note for you, Draco." Said AB, "You never talk about a professor like that!"

"That'll make two. I'm bound to get another before the month's up. " Draco said glumly.

AB wavered but ultimately stuck to his guns.

"Then learn your lesson."

The telling-off put a dampener on the mealtime fun, but soon enough affable Pucey was steering them back on course.

"My date is somewhat younger! Whoever guesses gets my pudding."

At that invitation, Goyle and Crabbe began rapidly reeling off the names of every female in Hogwarts. Eventually Goyle got there first; it was Maxine O'Flaherty. From Pucey's date the conversation went on to plans for the week and speculation on what the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang did during the day. Malfoy got over his sulk and spent the rest of the meal talking in an east European accent whilst Pansy adopted a French one. Potter bit onto the side of his mouth trying not to laugh but, truth be told, they were actually funny doing their dour-east-Euro-meets-coquettish-French-girl routine. Pansy got a bit saucy and asked 'Durmstrang Malfoy' about his broom,

"But ze wood is so 'ard. Does it 'urt you to sit wiz such 'ard wood?!"

and everyone at the table laughed - including Potter.

"And what is all this undignified cackling in aid of?"

Snape's voice sliced through the laughter. All at the table froze as they wondered how much of the off-colour jesting he'd heard. Crabbe broke the silence.

"Pucey just cracked a joke, sir."

"Go on then, Pucey. Entertain me." Demanded an unconvinced Snape.

"Thanks a bunch, Crabbe." Muttered Pucey under his breath, "Umm … what … umm … what do you get if you cross … erm no. What does a ghost say … no, hang on … erm …"

"Your comedic timing is flawless, Mr. Pucey."

"Here it is!" Said a galvanised Pucey, "What do you get if you cross what a ghost says with what you tie your shoelaces into and a potato?"

"I have no idea. What do you get?"

"Boo! Bow. Tuber. Bubotuber! Geddit?!"

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Yes." He sniffed, "I can quite see the cause for hilarity now. And here's a fun fact for you; you will be checking Potter's work after dinner. And do try not to tell him any more jokes; we don't want his stay in Slytherin to be quite so ghastly."

Snape left and Potter's shoulders slumped. Dinner had been fun, even Snape's contribution had made him smile, but the thought of his unfinished work was a real downer. He hadn't even started his Divination essay. How long was it going to take him to do that? He'd arranged to meet Ron and Hermione at eight. Bloody Snape and his 'prep status' … McGonagall never checked if they'd done their prep. She treated them like adults; that was why.

 **oOo**

Adrian Pucey glanced at the first page of Harry's Transfiguration homework.

"Yep, that'll all be good." He said.

"How do you know?"

"It's Granger's work. She remembers things even McGonagall has forgotten."

"How do you know?" Harry asked again.

Pucey grinned.

"I can smile about it now …" he began.

It had happened during the unseasonably warm May of '93. Rather than the temperature hovering around the low teens, it had shot up to the mid-twenties and, miraculously for Great Britain, stayed there for longer than a single afternoon, three weeks in fact. This lured the dungeon-dwelling folk out onto the lawns with their peers, complete with parchment, quills and books. Terence Higgs and Polly Huntingdon had lain in the shade of the rhododendrons and reached the same conclusion.

"This is 'busy' work. They're making us do this tosh to keep us out of mischief."

The heat can make you languid, but it can also make you irritable. Quite soon a sneering analysis of all the pointless work set was taking place on the Slytherin section of the lawns between the rhododendrons and the bluebell patch. Even Snape was part of the killjoy agenda - demanding his third and fourth year students supply three feet on the un-vexed question of _Why Sneezewort Doesn't Grow in Southern Europe._ Three feet when a one word answer would suffice - climate.

They couldn't not hand in the work; Snape had made that painfully obvious in the past. So what to do? As they were all pondering that question, Olivia Shardlow dropped the daisy chain she'd been making and giggled.

"Katie Bell's been staring at AB for full on five minutes!"

Slytherin eyes turned as one to the beech copse, where the Gryffindors lay. It was true, and Katie wasn't the only one.

There weren't many 'lookers' in Slytherin, but there were some - AB, Pucey, Jemima Deacon, Latimer, Fifi Hanrahan, Bletchley and a handful of others. In no time at all the dastardly plan was set. Hogwarts' swottiest students from all years were identified and Slytherin's smoothest operators were sent out as decoys - along with students of more humble appearance. As the heart throbs schmoozed, the plain and the downright ugly set about casting copying charms on every piece of parchment they could.

"Everyone had fun; it was a victimless crime." Explained Pucey, "We enjoyed showing off, the ugly-mugs got a kick out of being cunning, our adoring fans preened in the attention they got, and the Slytherins back at base camp had a riot organising it all."

Potter realised that he'd stopped clock-watching. This prep session was turning into great fun. Pucey had always been decent on the quidditch pitch, but he had no idea what a gently humorous - and garrulous - companion he could be.

"Did you get away with it?" Asked Potter, amazed that he actually wanted them to.

"We did … and then we didn't." Answered Pucey with a rueful smile.

They had breezed through the May skylarking, even if they had grown cocky and started handing in the copied work verbatim. This was for the simple reason that the teachers didn't check. The Slytherins had been correct; it was just 'busy work' - the professors' attempt to stop any springtime canoodling, over-ambitious swimming stunts and the million and one other nefarious deeds young minds are drawn to in warm weather.

But it was such easy and enjoyable work! The weather broke and Scotland regained its traditional early summer - lashing rain, chill winds and the occasional hailstorm. May turned into June and exams were on the horizon. The pin-up stars of Slytherin found it just as easy to sidle up to a desk in the library and offer relief from dull practice tests while their counterparts, the Plain Janes and even Plainer Johns, copied feverishly.

That's what got them caught and ended the Slytherin 'honey trap'. Professors did read the practice tests, scrutinized them in fact, in efforts to predict where the students would place in the end-of-year exams. As everyone was waiting to leave for supper that evening, Snape entered the common room like an avenging angel. Students leapt from seats knowing the source of his fury and that the game was up. If only he'd punished them instantly - that would have been so much more preferable. Instead he prowled his way around to each and every student eliciting their part in the scam and forcing them to answer the question: 'Did you know you were being dishonest and lying by omission?' A reply in the affirmative meant the student had to stand on the stairs at the top of the common room. Long after the elves had cleared away the final supper dishes in the Great Hall, the last guilty Slytherin took her place, along with sixty-nine equally culpable companions.

Potter smelled an opportunity to uncover some 'consequences'.

"Was that your punishment then, standing on the stairs all evening?"

It backfired.

"Don't joke about it! Have a bit of compassion, please! Crikey, Snape's bad enough when one of us lies to him; imagine his fury when the whole house has lied. It was a long night. Still, if there's one good thing about Snape, it's once you've felt his wrath, the matter's finished. But, Merlin! We felt his wrath that night!"

What bloody well happened? Potter felt like jumping up and down on the spot like a three-year-old in the midst of a tantrum. He had, however, missed his moment. Pucey picked up his Divination homework and started roaring with laughter.

" _Whither forward for tea leaves? Darjeeling or Lapsang Souchong?_ "

The prefect quoted the essay title set by the grande dame of nutjobs, Sybil Trelawney.

"You haven't even written anything; why not?"

Potter looked at the blank parchment and felt a pang. Were Ron by his side, the pair of them would have had a hoot making up complete bollocks in answer to the ridiculous question. But, by himself, he didn't know where to start.

"How am I supposed to answer that? It's mad!"

"Exactly! And that's what makes it so easy. Look Potter, life is short and time is precious. Do you really care about Divination?"

"Nope."

"Then be clever. What does Trelawney value?"

"Mysticism, hogwash, the 'unseen' and the 'unknowable', staring into space, wailing, patchouli - gallons of patchouli, shadows, vagueness, omens, portents … any kind of unquantifiable rubbish really."

"And there, my friend, is your essay!"

Pucey struck a pose.

"Who am I to presume to quantify the sheer power of the yogis of Darjeeling? Those ancient mystics that have guided - in the shadows - the wizarding world for aeons. Their influence is unseen and their strength unknowable, and yet …"

Pucey was even better at this than he and Ron. Potter was taken aback; he knew Snape could be funny in classes, but it was always quick-witted barbs and sneers for the gratification of Slytherin students. He'd assumed that any Slytherin humour would be like that - uncharitable observations and heavy sarcasm, not the lightness and warmth of Pucey. The prefect paused and handed an imaginary baton over to him.

"And yet … and yet …" Faltered Potter before inspiration struck, "as they have sat on those ancient hillsides in far off and mystical India, they have wailed their portents with the aid of one thing, the Darjeeling tea leaf. Who but these Darjeeling-supping yogis could have guided the great wizard Marco Polo to land at the Coromandel Coast of India?"

"Oh, you're good!" Complimented Pucey.

"Saw a program on the telly once!"

"What's a 'telly'?" Asked Pucey.

"A mystical meditation device."

"Bollocks!"

And before he knew it, Potter had written the longest answer to a question set by Sybil Trelawney in the history of Hogwarts. And greatly enjoyed doing so.

"Okay Potter, time's up! I've got myself a date; you need to clear off!"

"Me too." Answered Potter, trying to be as cool as Pucey.

"Bollocks!" Said Pucey.

"Yeah, it is!" He admitted shyly, "I'm off to see Ron and Hermione."

"Oh … oh good. Yeah … keep in touch with them, just erm … just give us a chance, will you?"

Pucey sounded plaintive and Potter wished he'd not mentioned Ron and Hermione.

"I will. Definitely. I just have to return Hermione's notes to her." He fibbed.

"Oh, and Potter? Move heaven and earth to make sure Snape never sees that Divination essay; he'll skin us both alive if he reads that bilge!"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N 1** Still can't edit the incorrect 'complete' status (without removing and replacing the whole thing). If anyone does know, it'd be wonderful if you could PM me.

 **A/N 2** Thank you to 'guest' for sharing your thoughts!

 **A/N 3** I've been a bit 'fast and loose' with a canon event here; I don't think it really alters anything though. I hope you enjoy it!

 **Chapter 5: Our Hero's a Rat Fink!**

Hermione was right; the Fat Lady was happy to summon her and Ron, even if she did feel the need to tell Harry he'd been 'a bit naughty' with the hourglasses. The trio beetled off to the hidden alcove Harry had found towards the end of first year. It had a heavy and dusty tapestry slung across the open arched entrance, and had more than once been a place of sanctuary for him during his midnight roaming when Snape, Filch and Mrs. Norris had been hot on his heels. One Christmas when the school was near-deserted, he'd practised his levitation charm and brought down a decrepit yet comfy sofa from the fourth floor.

Ron sat cross-legged at the end of the sofa and stared expectantly.

"Well, go on then!"

He'd known what Ron wanted and had no problem with that. But then he'd had that marvellous time with Pucey and things had changed … _'Just give us a chance'_ kept repeating in his head. He could tell this to Hermione and she'd understand; more than that, she'd applaud. But Ron?

"There's not really much to say. I've only been there one week."

"You've been in Slytherin for eight whole days," Huffed Ron, "there must be loads to say."

Harry began to panic. What if everything in Slytherin went kaput? What if Pucey and Archie were the only decent ones? Could he really afford to alienate the two friends that had been with him since that first ride on the Hogwarts' Express? No, no he couldn't.

"Vincent Crabbe's their best chess player!" He cried.

Ron barked with laughter. That made him happy; Harry decided to continue.

"You should see him sitting there like Gary Kasparov!"

"He's a Russian wizard." Ron explained to Hermione.

"No, he is not. He's an extremely intelligent and tactically-minded Muggle. They do exist, you know!"

"Yeah, whatever." Said Ron, rolling his eyes.

"Well, he thinks he looks like Kasparov, but really he looks like a particularly thick orang-utan! I felt sorry for the first-years … he calls them over and insists on teaching them. They're probably too scared to win in case he bashes them!"

Harry glanced to his right and saw the look of disapproval on Hermione's face. He quickly looked away. He didn't need to see that; he felt bad enough already.

"Well, I think it's very kind of Vincent and his ability at chess doesn't matter. I would have loved an older student to take an interest in me when I was in lower school. They just ignored us and we never got to really know them."

Harry agreed with every word Hermione said - and it made him furious. She should have known how he really felt; how dare she sit there like some prim Sunday School teacher giving a homily? She should try being thrown into Slytherin and then having to talk to Ron about it. He should tell her that Miles Bletchley, her supposed-but-not-at-all secret crush, only sweet-talked her in the second year to enable Marcus Flint to copy all her work. Instead he scoured his memories for ideas to sate Ron's appetite for 'dirt'.

"Bedtimes!" Snorted Harry. "They have bedtimes!"

"Oh, this just keeps getting better! Who'd wanna be in Slytherin?!" Cackled Ron.

 **oOo**

You little toad! Thought Severus. He'd been on his way down the east wing corridor for an evening with Charity Burbage when he'd spotted the shabby tapestry. That none of the elves had returned it to its fourth floor storage room had always surprised him. He'd summoned it here one midnight three years ago after corralling Potter in the alcove just as Filch was about to find and haul him off to the professor-on-duty, Quirrell.

The thorn in his side had never realised how close he'd come to being in Voldemort's clutches and ever since, the damn boy had used it to evade his own patrols. He'd had to suffer the sly grins of the intolerable trio the next morning at breakfast when all he'd really wanted to do was wallop the smugness out of them. Because that's the trouble with secretly gained information; you have to hold onto it at cost to yourself for the sake of future gain.

The amplifying charm he'd cast hadn't revealed anything he didn't already know. Weasley was mocking his Slytherins and feeling entitled to do so because 'all Slytherins were nasty' - completely unaware of his own hypocrisy. Once more he'd wished that Granger had been sorted into Slytherin. That young witch had tremendous reserves. She could, of course, be hugely annoying but Bulstrode would have knocked that out of her - possibly literally. And Potter … well he was reverting to type …

 **oOo**

Having shared a bottle of shiraz with Charity, it was a much more tolerant Potions Master that glided down the dungeon steps. The Muggle Studies professor was only seven years his senior and she didn't lecture like McGonagall was prone to. Talking to her helped him make sense of the chaos all around him.

He gave a slight smile as he realised his friend had sent him off with a memory charm. Walking back from her east wing rooms, he'd been plunged back twenty years and was talking with Avery and Mulciber in the common room. They were making obscene speculations as to how the common mudblood Lily Evans was able to keep a rich pureblood like James Potter interested. Snape had hated every second of the conversation, yet he'd gone along with it - terrified to lose the companionship of his fellow Slytherins. That's what Potter's going through, he realised. He paused outside the common room door and decided against going straight to his rooms.

 **oOo**

The common room was dark, all the candles extinguished. Only the firelight illuminated the faces of AB, Pucey, Sophie Blishwick and Latimer as the four prefects sat curled up chatting on the sofas before it. Snape cleared his throat and they leapt to standing. He waved them back to their seats.

"Any nonsense while I was away?"

"None." Replied Latimer, though his housemaster looked unconvinced.

"Astoria had a bit of a scuffle with Archie - she wouldn't let him have her fortune-teller, so he pinched it and tossed it in the fire." Admitted Sophie.

"And?"

"And I sent them both to bed early."

He wasn't entirely satisfied with that.

"And AB gave Archie a good telling-off and a note, didn't you?"

"Young Mr. Delingpole would have received more than a telling-off from me. He's fortunate I was out for the night, but thank you for dealing with it. Now, how is Potter faring?"

Pucey jumped into the conversation.

"Seems to be fine, sir. I did prep with him. He's all up-to-date by the way."

"He went to visit his Gryffindor friends; is no-one talking to him here?" Snape asked.

"He was chatting at mealtimes."

"And what about with Malfoy and co.?"

"Not really." Admitted AB, "Zabini's been friendly, though."

"I think it may be a good idea to have the fourth years invite the Gryffindors to their library study group next week. See to it will you?" Snape asked Latimer, "And make sure it's Potter and Malfoy that issue the invitation. It's late. Ten more minutes and then bed."

 **oOo**

The next morning meant Transfiguration with Gryffindor. This, thought Harry, was a good way to ease himself back into the company of his old housemates; they wouldn't dare rag him with McGonagall stood at the front of the class. He was right; apart from still feeling a bit strange when he didn't automatically move to sit with his friends, the lesson went well. But after McGonagall left was another matter.

"I'm exhausted!" Said Dean with a yawn so false it would have made the worst amateur thespian cringe.

"Me too!" Said Ron, "But then we didn't get to bed until one."

Harry froze. He knew where this was headed.

"The Slytherins are all looking fresh-faced, though." Seamus said.

"Ah well," Began Ron, "there's a lot to be said for being tucked up in bed by ten-thirty!"

You big-mouthed bastard! An elbow worked its way sharply between his shoulder blades and he turned around to see Malfoy storming down the corridor. The Gryffindors, minus one, went off laughing to the next class. Hermione tugged on Harry's arm and whispered, 'just apologise' before leaving herself. Harry turned to see the Slytherins staring at him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know it was a secret; Ron just asked me about my first week."

Millicent stepped forward.

"Alright. But before your apology is accepted, think about this. Are we a bunch of namby pamby milksops? And why do you think we are so happy in Slytherin - because we are, you know."

"No! I don't think …" Began Harry.

"No, no. I told you to think about it. I don't need to hear your answer; in fact, I don't want to. All I want is you to have the decency to consider things before you go shooting your mouth off. You might not have wanted to come to Slytherin, but we didn't ask for it either."

 **oOo**

Harry did think about it; thought about it so much throughout his Charms class that he earned himself two warnings from Professor Flitwick but thankfully no detention. Malfoy did, however, get a detention for turning up twenty minutes late and not giving an explanation. The explanation became obvious during lunch. The 'Potter Stinks' badges that had flooded Hogwarts the day after the Goblet's shock announcement and then mysteriously disappeared a day later, had made a comeback - this time worn exclusively by Hufflepuff.

They'd marched into the dining hall proudly displaying 'Support Cedric Diggory', but no sooner had those at the head table started chattering amongst themselves than almost every timid and retiring Hufflepuff got an odd gleam in their eye, grabbed their lapel and started flashing 'Potter Stinks' at Harry. Pucey leaned over and tapped Harry on the arm,

"No offence Potter, but Maxine does look wonderful when she has her dander up!"

Harry looked over and took in the ludicrous sight of Maxine O'Flaherty shaking her blonde ringlets and curling her rosebud lips into a snarl, and started laughing so hard Bletchley and Daphne had to grab him to stop him toppling off the bench. After all the upheaval of the last week, he just didn't have the energy left to be upset or annoyed or even slightly peeved. All he could do was laugh. The laughter spread like a rampant virus from one person to the next - until the only one left was Draco. Everyone muted the volume on their sniggers as they awaited a reaction.

"You're laughing?! You think this is funny?!"

"I do!"

"I can't catch a break!" Wailed Draco, "I've got two notes already, a detention from Flitwick because I was snaffling those badges from Snape's office and now this!"

'This' was the whirlwind of black descending on the Slytherin table.

"Are you responsible for this circus, Malfoy?"

"Yes, sir." Groaned Malfoy, "Shall I just come to your study now?"

The forlorn question prompted a renewed bout of guffaws from the housemates, so much so that everyone in the hall downed their cutlery and stared. Snape regarded his Snakes as if they were exhibits at a zoo. The boy had been in his study without permission; he never let things like that go. But this was too ridiculous a situation to get stern over.

"All of you on your feet. Outside and three laps around the Black Lake. If there's a hint of a smirk on any of your faces when you return …"

He let the threat dangle and walked back to his seat while his Snakes filed out to brave the chilly autumn winds and begin jogging around the lake.

"He doesn't realise what this wind does to my hair!" Complained Pansy.

"What are you talking about?" Puffed Vincent Crabbe, "Snape's all about hair care!"

That reminded Harry; he had to find out what was going on with The Git's hair. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy sidle up to him - and expected to be tripped into the lake any moment but Draco just jogged alongside for half a circuit before speaking,

"I'll say this for you, Potter; you may be a blabbermouth with your Gryffindork friends but you can take it on the chin. I thought the badge thing was going to make you do your nut."

"Yeah, dream on, Malfoy. Dream on."

"Don't get cocky." Warned Malfoy as they ran past the broom shed. "I bet he knows all about you spouting off to your Gryffindor pals."

"How?"

"Don't waste your time thinking about it. He just finds out about things. Look, I suppose I should say thank you for not complaining about the badges to Snape."

"Go on then. Say 'thank you'."

"I just did!"

"No you didn't. You said 'I suppose I should say thank you'. It's not the same thing."

"Merlin's sake, Potter!"

And the pair continued bickering throughout the final circuit of the lake, their words oddly lacking any bite.

 **oOo**

He'd stayed on at the Slytherin table after supper watching Goyle best a series of housemates foolish enough to take him on in arm wrestling. No effing way am I getting on the wrong side of him, he thought as he watched the big lug effortlessly drop down Armitage-Brown's arm, despite the prefect using two hands to try and win. AB saluted him with the arm that wasn't quivering quite so much and Tory Greengrass leapt into the contender's chair. Goyle twitched with exertion, his arm suddenly flopping flat on the table. All a sham, of course, but Tory loved every minute of it. She jumped into the hulk's lap and hugged him.

Hermione's words of the evening before came to mind … _I would have loved an older student to take an interest in me when I was in lower school. They just ignored us and we never got to really know them at all_ … She was right. This interaction between years was something that the Slytherins had on Gryffindor, loathe as he was to admit it. In fact, so refreshing did he find it, he followed the group back to the common room straight after.

He wished he hadn't. There at the games table dealing cards to a group of second and third-years sat Snape. It was the common room; what was Snape doing there? He had no right to be there; Harry wouldn't just go marching to the staffroom, prop his feet up on the coffee table and start nattering to Madam Hooch. This was an outrage! McGonagall never muscled her way into the Gryffindor common room. No, because she observed the protocols - professors taught, and after that they kept themselves removed.

It crossed his mind to back out before Snape saw him, but Elsa Tobin, whose hand he was holding, lurched forward.

"Gin rummy! Yes! Come on, Potter!"

Snape kept his gaze on his card companions.

"Mister Potter would be better advised to do some extra work on Charms; his performance in class today was less than exemplary, I hear. And as he has been extolling the virtues of a good night's sleep to the Gryffindors, perhaps he would like an early bedtime? When I say 'perhaps', of course I mean he will."

Draco Malfoy, who was standing by the mantelpiece, looked over and sniggered.

"You too, Malfoy. Entrance to my study - as you well know - is by invitation only."

Despite Malfoy also copping it, Potter shrivelled in embarrassment at the public telling-off. He shuffled over to a table at the side of the room to glower and maybe look at his Charms work. Then Tracey Davis sat down and winked at him and a tiny bit of him melted. He braved a look around the room. Perhaps he was taking this too seriously; no one was jeering at him. He thought some more. Snape was always telling someone off; it didn't seem to be that big a deal. He shared his book with Tracey and read up on the banishing charm Flitwick had been trying to teach them before she suggested they practise. Potter smiled at her and pulled out his wand, pointed it at Snape's back and pretended to cast the 'Depulso' banishing charm. Tracey burst into a fit of giggles imagining her stern head of house flying up and being swept from the room. Potter felt great.

"Perhaps, children, we should stop our game. It seems Mr Potter is going to get himself into a world of trouble if he isn't given some attention …"

Potter gulped but before he could panic, Snape called the students over to him, waved his wand and cleared the whole right side of the common room's furniture, before summoning all the cardigans, jumpers, socks and scarves that the Slytherins had left lying around.

The 'attention' turned out to be a great deal of fun. Snape put the thirty or so students in small groups each comprising a lower, middle and upper student. The lower school students levitated an item, the fourth and fifth banished it and the senior students performed a silent 'accio', so it could start again. Pansy, Daphne and Tracey began tapping out a beat with their heels and the students used this to keep time. The beat grew faster and so did the casting until, inevitably, cardigans flew back into the faces of casters or another group's sweater was inadvertently banished. Those groups were 'out' and pretty soon AB, Malfoy and Archie Delingpole found themselves battling Snape, Pansy and second-year Lara Templeman.

Pansy's 'Depulso' went wobbly and the scarf began to jitter and fly back towards her. AB and Malfoy spotted it and started whooping when, all of a sudden, the scarf changed course and flew back to wrap itself tightly around their wands.

"Game over!" Grinned Snape.

"Sir!" Cried an outraged Archie, "You cheated!"

"Great Merlin, so I did! That's twenty points from Slytherin!"

The Slytherins, who had learned to treat the giving and taking of points with an amused indifference, laughed at their Head of House's jest. Next, the furniture was spelled back in place and a certain H. Potter tried to slink off to the secluded reading area, but Snape didn't miss a trick.

"Say goodnight Miss Tobin, Miss Holness and Mr Delingpole - and you too Malfoy and Potter."

An eight-thirty bedtime with three naughty first-years, how very undignified. Potter looked around for Malfoy to see how he would handle the walk of shame to the dormitory stairs. Bollocks! Malfoy was quite impressive - grinning and glad-handing everyone he walked past. Now he'd look like a fool if he sulked. Taking a deep breath, he turned and bowed to the room, bidding them all a fond farewell.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: What's up with Malfoy?**

 **Thursday afternoon, last lesson (week 2)**

Finnegan waited until Snape had slipped into his supply cupboard to launch his opening salvo at Potter.

"You must be walking on cloud nine." He muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"All the attention you're getting. First the Goblet, then you get yourself put in the Snake house."

Potter ignored him.

"You love it. McGonagall worrying about you; Hermione doing her nut. How's it going? Is Snape still tucking you into bed nice and early?"

"Get lost, Seamus." Whispered Potter.

Theo Nott watched as Potter tried to get around Seamus to grab a cleaning rag, but the Gryffindor was blocking his way.

"Get out of the way, Finnegan. If you're so obsessed with Potter, just sit at the side and drool over him!"

Pansy and Malfoy heard that and laughed. Seamus didn't.

"I thought you Snakes were bad, but you don't know what you've got there. You know he came scuttling back to tell us all about the stupid things that go on in your house, don't you?"

Seamus thought he'd landed a killer blow, but Nott affected boredom.

"We do. It was a bit naughty; Potter got a very early bedtime for that."

Potter thought of Finnegan getting more information to goad him with - sent to bed along with the misbehaved first-years; he'd never live that one down. Then he looked at Seamus, who assumed Nott was being facetious, and smiled with relief. That enraged Seamus. The next thing he knew a fist had landed in his side. Nott pulled him away and stamped on Seamus' foot; Dean Thomas weighed in and pushed at the back of Potter's knees - causing him to crumple to the floor. He rose up to see Professor Snape holding two flasks of moondew and looking murderous.

"Detention Misters Finnegan and Thomas!" No other penalty was levied.

Finally an upside to being in Slytherin! But no sooner had he thought that than a lock of lank, black hair swung against his face as Snape caught both he and Nott by the collar and whispered at them to stay behind after class.

 **oOo**

"What's going on with the hair? It was normal before breakfast and now look at it."

"It's the potion he makes, isn't it?"

"We make potions; it doesn't make us look like someone's melted half a pound of butter on our heads."

"Not normal potions, _the_ potion."

"You make it sound like he's discovered the elixir of life." Huffed Potter, annoyed at finding Nott's answers impenetrable.

"You mean to tell me you don't know who he makes that bloody potion for?"

The blank look gave Nott his answer.

"It's for the much-lamented 'Professor Nice', or as you Gryffindors know him, cuddly old Remus Lupin."

"But it was Snape that made sure he was sacked," Cried Potter, "dropping hints about him being a werewolf left, right and centre!"

"Oh here we go, more unthinking outrage."

There was some outrage but Nott waited it out, and then he told him. Snape had been making the Wolfsbane potion since 1990, the year Albus Dumbledore decided he wanted Remus Lupin back. But the Ministry of Magic was not easily placated by the headmaster's assurances; they wanted to wait at least three years to check that the potion worked.

"Three years?! They didn't want him back at all!"

"No, you're probably right."

It was the aconite reacting with the essence of comfrey that caused the plume of greasy particles. Snape could easily wash it off his hands and change his gown, but washing his hair throughout the day was untenable.

"It's the most demanding potion there is; needs to be worked constantly during daylight hours. That's probably what he's doing now."

"But Lupin's gone."

"He's still alive; Snape still makes it for him. Shame Snape was only blamed about the werewolf losing his job and not that he's been making that potion for four bloody years."

It was more than a shame, it was wrong and Potter could only nod. All those times he and Ron had called Snape a 'greasy git' within his hearing; he felt as mean as Dudley now. The door opened and Snape came in.

"Really?"

Nott turned around to face the wall. Harry copied and instantly felt like a six-year-old. He surveyed the imperfections in the ancient rock as a means of assuaging his disappointment with Remus. But he soon grew bored and instead listened to Snape sorting through glass phials and emptying liquids into the sink. It went on for ages and his legs began to get twitchy and sore.

"It is a punishment, Potter. As such you will forbear the boredom and discomfort."

This was worse than detention. At least in detention you were doing something - the time went much faster. He'd always thought Snape let his house off with things scot-free. Now he was having his doubts. He thought back to all those potions lessons where Malfoy or Parkinson or any of them were being prats. He'd assumed Snape had been congratulating them when he'd whispered in their ear but thinking about it now, he was certain they'd ended up staring at the same boring wall.

"About face, gentlemen." Snape eventually called.

The tall man easily straddled a stool and sat staring at the boys while he tapped a long potion stirrer against his calf. He had Theodore Nott in his sights first.

"Explain."

"Slytherins stick together, sir; you taught us that. Potter's in Slytherin now; I had to stand by him, and Finnegan was being a twat."

The potion stirrer whipped around to land with a crack on the back of Nott's thigh.

"Language, Nott. I'm impressed with your intent, yet disappointed in your means. You do not wish to disappoint me again." Snape said, holding up the potion stirrer. "Now, Mr. Potter? Do you have anything salient to add?"

"No, sir."

"Very well. You'll both come here at half past six tonight and teach the first-years how to section and divide flitterblooms."

"That's the Monopoly tournament, sir!"

"Not for you, it isn't."

 **oOo**

Potter would've much preferred the task of setting up the classroom, but Snape had given that to Nott. He now had to go to the common room and corral the first-years. He felt so awkward. What if they were having fun? They generally were. It dawned on him that he just didn't have the nerve to demand they accompany him to the classroom. Hang on, what was he thinking? Archie Delingpole would follow him anywhere. He began scanning the room, but couldn't see him. Alicia Mayhew's head popped up over the top of a high-backed leather armchair and then immediately disappeared. Potter made his way there.

As he walked around the chair, he saw she was sitting crammed in next to Marcus Flint.

"Going to come and torture some flitterblooms with me?!" Potter asked - hoping he didn't sound nervous.

"Why are you teaching us? What's happened to Warrington?"

"Dunno." Said Potter. He didn't feel like admitting Snape was making him do this.

Flint pulled Alicia close and whispered something to her. Her face broke into a smirk.

"Been a naughty boy, Potter?! Snape making you do this as a punishment? Well, what if I don't want to come?"

Potter didn't know what to say; he didn't want to plead with a bloody first-year. He tried to look around nonchalantly, hoping to find Pucey. Pucey would help him. But, apart from Flint, the only older students he could see were Bole and Derrick; the rest were all second and third-years. The little madam had climbed from the chair now and stood hands on hips; somehow she managed to look down at Potter despite barely coming up to his chest.

"You know, I don't think I will come. And I don't think any of the others will either. You're going to get into more trouble!"

Potter felt pathetic. Bullied by a first-year. Now he'd have to go and ask Snape for help. He'd probably applaud Alicia's cheek and enjoy sneering at how the arrogant Gryffindor was brought low by one of the youngest students in the school. Either that, or she'd get into a ton of trouble with The Git, everyone would feel sorry for her and then they'd turn on him. But none of that happened; a good Samaritan arrived.

Draco Malfoy's hand latched onto Alicia's upper arm and pulled her smartly towards him.

"No, Potter won't get into more trouble because Snape will be too busy dealing with you. Is that what you really want?"

At first, she only pouted but a slight shake of her arm saw her protesting that she'd only been joking.

"Hilarious, Alicia." Said Malfoy, "Now go and get the others."

He walked off before Potter could thank him.

Flint gave him a sneer, but Potter could live with that; he'd had far worse on the quidditch pitch from that troglodyte. Alicia ran back leading a beaming Archie Delingpole and the others. She grabbed Potter's hand and apologised.

"Please don't tell Professor Snape!"

"I won't."

"Or AB!"

"I won't."

"Or Millicent, or Bletchley, or Pucey, or …"

"Them neither." Assured Potter, "Come on; let's go."

He thoroughly enjoyed the flitterbloom lesson. He saw the potions classroom in a whole new light. It wasn't the dark, dank place of foreboding he'd always seen it as. Without the six foot three streak of snark sweeping menacingly about the place, Potter found it jolly and slightly raucous. And though the first-years chatted and laughed throughout, they worked hard. He was amazed how keen they were to perfect the sectioning and show off their skills to Snape. If this was a typical punishment, then he supposed his time in Slytherin wouldn't be all that gruesome.

 **oOo**

 **Friday afternoon**

Harry learned the shocking news at the end of the second week, and stood appalled right under the portrait of Maud Montague.

"Wotcha! Lose the frown; it's Friday afternoon! The weekend!" Beamed Ron.

"Or not." Glowered Harry.

"You what?"

"Your weekend has arrived; I've got … house prep."

"Ooh!" Hermione squealed. "I wonder if McGonagall would set up a Gryffindor prep session if I asked her?"

"Don't you dare!" Threatened Ron.

Prep started at three thirty. The lower school, who finished for the week at one thirty, were currently doing theirs. So he had an hour with Ron and Hermione - an hour he spent exclusively whinging.

Life was hard in Slytherin, he told his friends. Every single, sodding afternoon he'd done some form of schoolwork. That it had lasted only an hour he chose not to disclose. Then there was the 'chore roster'. Despite coming from the richest families in the wizarding world and probably owning a slew of elves, Slytherin House appeared to make little use of the Hogwarts' cleaning elves. Slytherin, just like a difficult teenager, was perverse and determinedly different. He neglected to mention that the students didn't actually do the most time-consuming work - laundry, cleaning the carpets, washing the windows. But focused on, and somewhat embellished, the dusting, polishing and tidying regime Snape mandated.

"Bloody barking." Pronounced Ron.

"How enlightened!" Enthused Hermione, wondering if she could recruit them to the S.P.E.W. crusade.

Then there were 'Snape's Rules', of which he still had only the vaguest clue.

"Just ask someone, you dunce!" Screeched Hermione.

"Yeah mate, just ask." Agreed Ron, "I'm dying here! I can't wait to find out what they are!"

Like I'll be telling you, thought Harry.

 **oOo**

Friday afternoon prep! Who dreamt that one up? Potter had a fair idea, and as he sighed loudly and shuffled reluctantly into the common room, the evil architect of that torture was in situ.

"Do try and mask your excitement, Potter." Said Snape, "Your excessively high spirits are distracting the other students!"

Funny bugger, aren't you? But he cheered up when Millicent tapped the back of the empty seat next to her. He sat down and noticed that a chair had been placed facing the corner opposite him with Archie Delingpole sat in it.

"What's going on there?" Whispered Potter, nodding at Archie. Millicent looked up and shrugged, "Usual firstie nonsense, I suppose."

She might have found this commonplace, but Potter didn't. It dawned on him that the professors at Hogwarts seldom, if ever, treated the younger students like children, and looking at the small back and shoulders of Archie, that's exactly what he was. After a few minutes Snape called the disgraced child over to him. He leaned to the side to speak quietly to him, but his deep murmur carried across the common room - not that anyone other than Potter paid attention.

"Waste my time, Mr. Delingpole, and I will waste yours. All your defiance has earned you is longer in prep while your friends are enjoying some free time."

Potter could see Archie struggling to hold back tears. He might well have been spoilt and a bit of a cry-baby, but he was also a kind soul. What was the sour git going to do now? Banish him to his dorm for the weekend? Well Potter was going to sneak in to see him, even if it did mean he had to play endless games of Exploding Snap.

What happened next was a very little thing, but it was an action he wouldn't forget. Snape pulled the child closer to him, "What's all this about, hmm?" he chided, taking hold of Archie's chin and tilting his face to look at him. "You have fifteen questions to complete; that should take half an hour at the most - plenty of time to join your friends before supper. Sit down now and do your work. We've had enough nonsense."

The tone had become marginally harder with his last comment, but Potter was still taken aback at how deftly he'd dealt with the upset boy. He doubted McGonagall even knew that as a first-year he'd regularly stayed up into the early hours finishing neglected work. Slytherin House certainly was different, and Snape appeared to run an extremely tight ship. But, just maybe, different didn't always mean bad.

As if sensing his reputation for cold-hearted evil was being eroded, the Potions Master's voice crooned across the room.

"The corner chair is now vacant, Mr. Potter. On with your work, or you shall find yourself on it."

"He wouldn't, would he?" Potter asked Millicent.

"Dunno. But he's joking. That's his happy voice; can't you tell?!"

"Pfft! Some head of house you've got!"

"Yes, we have. Snape's great and if you'd get your head out of your arse, you might see it."

Adrian Pucey on the table opposite chuckled, "Charmingly put, Millie!"

"Sorry." Said Potter. He wasn't, but he couldn't deal with the threat of humiliation in the corner and a cross Millicent.

"Apology accepted." She replied, "And don't you ever call me 'Millie'. Only Pucey can do that."

"Why?"

"He doesn't give me notes for swearing - gets me out of a lot of bother."

"No. I mean why can't I call you Millie?" Teased Potter, "Millie's a very pretty name … kind of soft and girly. Suits you!"

"Up ya bum, chum!" Laughed Millicent - along with a two-fingered 'salute'.

"Miss Bulstrode! Obscene gestures bring the same penalty as obscene language." Warned Snape, "And I'll be checking the work on that table before you both leave."

"Silly Millie!" Goaded Potter - and after she'd given him a kick in the shin, they both got down to studying.

 **oOo**

It was great to start the weekend with assignments done and dusted - and if Snape hit him with the cruciatus curse enough times, Potter might even admit it. Those students with plans left the common room immediately. Another group of students made the trek up to the owlery to fetch any parcels that had been sent from home. It was the final delivery of the week for Slytherins; Snape decreeing that it was bad form to expect the owls to work at weekends. No surprises that Malfoy and Delingpole were heading that queue.

Potter hung back and thought about what to do. He'd meet Hermione and Ron after supper, but in the meantime he was at a loose end. Pucey's arm snaked around his shoulders and suggested a group of them go and fly by the lake. Bugger! He'd left his broom up in Gryffindor with Ron. It had been decided between them that he wouldn't be joining the Slytherin quidditch team, and so his broom had remained there. Pucey and Bletchley assured him there were plenty of spares in the shed, and off they went.

 **oOo**

Hearing the swooshing from above, Potter gave one more pull on his broom. No use. It was stuck on the same slow, gentle circuit of the Black Lake, about four feet from the water's surface, bobbing up and down like a merry-go-round horse at a funfair. Yes, the broom the Slytherins had pressed upon him was charmed so that any self-respecting three-year-old would grow instantly bored. He couldn't even get off - another thoughtful charm.

"Come on, Potter! It's not that scary up here!" Called Goyle.

"We did hear tell that you were reasonably good on a broom!" Teased Pucey.

"Bastards!" Was all he could say. Then he turned his head to the side and saw first and second-years from all houses pointing and giggling at his achingly slow progress. But once his flying prowess had been sufficiently mocked, Bletchley swooped down, removed the charms, and slapped something onto his chest. He hovered in the air and gave grinning Bletchley a puzzled look.

"You're the mangy lion! No-one wants to be a lion, Potter; you have to get rid of it!"

Potter looked at his chest and saw a tatty Gryffindor school badge that the Slytherins had procured from somewhere, its back slathered in adhesive. Two things shocked him. Firstly, he wasn't homesick for the Lion House. And secondly, he didn't take the remotest bit of offence. Hoping desperately that every child from the lower school was still watching, he pulled on his broom and soared up high to see which cackling Slytherin he was going to chase down. How about Pucey? Pucey it was. And so the game of tag - or 'Mangy Lion', as the Slytherins called it - continued. Pucey tagged Goyle, who in turn tagged Emerald Sykes. Emerald took an age to get rid of the lion, but eventually caught up with Crabbe. Crabbe tagged Pansy Parkinson in a heartbeat. Pansy seemed to have hurt her wrist and started to cry. Pucey went to investigate, saw the gleam in Pansy's eye too late and found himself once again with the Gryffindor lion on his chest.

"Am I supposed to be shocked or admiring of such underhand tactics?" He asked.

He didn't, however, receive an answer. All brooms turned to the jetty leading into the lake. Draco Malfoy had his weekly parcel and was hurling sweets and chocolate into the murky depths. The broom-riders shrugged at each other and dropped down a few feet for a closer look.

Malcolm Baddock and Lara Templeman quickly pulled off their shoes and socks and waded in to skim the floating sweets from the surface.

"Put those back!" Snarled Malfoy, "It's rubbish. It's all a rotten, rubbish lie!"

He turned and stalked to the main entrance. Crabbe flew sideways and shouldered Goyle, "We'd best go."

 **oOo**

Suppertime was approaching, and Harry remembered Ron wanted to borrow his _Quidditch Monthly_. He was climbing the stairs to the boys' dorms to get it when Goyle and Crabbe appeared.

"Don't go in, Potter. Malfoy's not too happy."

Damn! Ron would sulk if he turned up without the magazine. But hang on, how come Malfoy thought he could commandeer the whole bloody dorm? He thought back to the platinum one's performance by the lake; what was that about? His father probably sent the wrong sweets, or maybe not enough chocolate. Surely he could just nip into the dorm? He decided he would. Crabbe and Goyle had left and Harry wasn't about to have his movements curtailed by a Malfoy tantrum.

"Get out!"

"I'm just getting my …"

"Potter! Piss off!" Screamed Malfoy.

Potter made a grab for the magazine when Malfoy suddenly shot up from his bed.

"Had a good look, have you Potter? Had a good look at the idiot that can't get anything right; the idiot that believes anything he's told?"

"I … I … look, I'm sorry." He faltered.

For a second, Potter thought Malfoy was reaching for his wand, and he grabbed his own. Malfoy leapt across the room and wrestled Potter to the ground, pummelling him. But Malfoy was no fighter. Compared to Dudley's outbursts, this was nothing and Potter lay and took it, trying to snatch Malfoy's fists and keep them still. Then came the sound of hard leather soles pinging off stone, and a deep muffled voice. Potter overpowered his flailing opponent by bucking forward and rolling on top of him.

"It's Snape! Malfoy, it's bloody Snape!"

Malfoy was too far gone in his raging; unable to even hear Potter, his impotent punches and swearing continued. Silhouetted in the doorway stood their housemaster.

"Get off me, Potter!" Screamed Malfoy.

Snape strode towards the pair and Potter realised that he was lying on top of the tearful Slytherin, wand still in hand. For all the world it looked like he was the aggressor. This was a gift for Snape; surely expulsion was only moments away? Strong arms reached down and plucked him up. He expected to be shaken roughly and told not to bother explaining himself, his actions were plain for the housemaster to see.

But he wasn't. He was placed on his bed and ordered to lie flat while Snape negotiated the fuming mass of Slytherin on the carpet. But Potter had to look. He watched as Malfoy kicked out sharply at the housemaster's shin, unaware who it was. Snape winced and Potter's eyes widened, wondering how he'd react. The man crouched down and placed his large hands on the boy's knees, pinning them to the floor.

"Draco … Draco, it's Professor Snape."

A stream of expletives poured forth - widening Potter's eyes to impossible proportions.

"Mister Malfoy! You will stop this at once!"

That snapped him out of it. Malfoy registered whom he'd been kicking and rage mutated into alarm, but all Snape did was lift him to his bed. The housemaster then turned and Potter quickly fell flat onto his back.

"Is it impossible for you to do as you're told?"

It was a scold, though it did seem a bit half-hearted. Snape lit the candle sconces on his side of the dorm and walked towards him. Potter held up his wand.

"I wasn't going to use it!"

"I know, Potter."

"I thought he was getting his, but he wasn't."

"I know, Potter."

"He just jumped on me!"

"I know, Potter."

"I was trying to stop him, honest! He was just really upset." Potter babbled.

"I know, Potter. I am a very knowledgeable man. Now lie still while I check you for injuries."

He'd never felt more vulnerable in his life; supine on the bed while Snape, armed with his wand, pulled up his shirt and scanned for injuries. Next he was rolled onto his stomach, and his lower back given a thorough going over.

"Some very superficial bruising." Snape said. "Nothing that should linger for more than a day."

Snape's fingers tickled as they traced over his torso. Being tickled by Snape was probably the single most repellent sensation Potter had ever felt. He was desperate to be out of that dormitory.

"I'm okay but if it gets bad, I'll go and see Madam Pomfrey." He promised.

"No, Potter. You are perfectly fine, but should you feel worse, you will come to me. This incident remains in-house."

"Yes, sir."

"And on that topic, are you meeting Granger and Weasley after supper?"

Harry inferred correctly.

"I won't mention a word of this."

Snape crossed his arms and nodded. Harry fled.

 **I'll post chapter 7 next week.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N 1** I've taken liberties with Lucius Malfoy's backstory, a snippet of which is mentioned here but there'll be more later.

 **A/N 2** Weasley-lovers beware! I'm a bit nasty about the Weasleys here, but it is coming from Draco's POV. I hope you enjoy it!

 **Chapter 7: Fireside with Malfoy**

The urge to flee Snape and his ticklish fingers meant that the _Quidditch Monthly_ was forgotten. As predicted, Ron was peeved. Though the peevishness was nothing compared to his disgust over Harry having finished all his homework.

"What the bloody hell's going on?! You never finish homework!"

"I didn't have much choice!"

But Ron wasn't in a receptive mood.

"Are you coming to quidditch practice tomorrow?" He snapped.

The Inter-House Cup may have been off the agenda, but no team was letting practice slide.

"That'd be a bit weird, wouldn't it? I mean, I'm not in Gryffindor for the rest of this term."

Actually, it didn't seem weird to Harry and Snape hadn't prohibited it. However, he knew Seamus would be there, still insisting he was the natural choice for chaser. That knobhead was the last person he wanted to see after he'd gone for Harry and got him into trouble that day in Potions. He also realised that he wasn't keen for Pucey, Bletchley and the others to see him back with the Gryffindor team. It'd seem ungrateful somehow.

"Sodding hell!" Moaned Ron, "I may as well stop trying."

You've never bloody tried; it's all about you, thought Harry. But as usual, his fear of abandonment and loneliness prevailed and he ended up asking Ron what time the practice was. Ron then informed him that he'd have to check with the team if it was okay to have a Snake there, and Harry felt like kicking himself. He was glad when Ron sidled off to talk to Lee Jordan, who'd just walked into the Great Hall with Eloise Midgen.

Twenty minutes later, Ron threw them both a careless wave and went off with Lee and George. Realising he wasn't coming back, Hermione and Harry wandered over to sit on the edge of the dais that held the professors' high table.

"You know, I'm a little jealous of you." Hermione remarked.

"Everyone is." Replied Harry, "Who wouldn't want to share a dorm with Crabbe and Goyle?!"

Hermione laughed, "What are they like?"

"Fascinating! I never realised that burping and farting were competitive sports. Forget quidditch; it's all about the duration and volume of a fart!"

Hermione 'eewwed' and shook her head. "What's Snape like?" She asked.

"Total git! Today he made us all get up at six and run five times around the quidditch stadium before breakfast because yesterday we kept him waiting for uniform inspection."

"But you don't get any more lines for being late."

"True." Harry conceded. "But get this, he has the house prefects check we're doing our homework, and we have a tutorial with them if it's not up to par."

If that snippet was meant to drive home the true extent of Snape's megalomania, it failed. Hermione had nothing but admiration for the system; studies remained on track and no one fell through the cracks. Likewise, she was positive about the early lights out. Her parents had always insisted she got ten hours sleep a night; at least if it was enforced from above, you didn't have to feel like a sissy for going to bed early. Being obliged to finish all your homework before the weekend was a brilliant idea as well. She didn't care what Ron said, she would have a word to McGonagall about it.

"But how does he treat you?"

Harry looked at her, realising he hadn't given that much thought. When he'd learned he was to move houses, it was his only thought. Snape loathed him; everyone knew that. He'd had so many well-grounded fears - Snape bullying him mercilessly, making him work as a house elf for Slytherin, finding out and revealing all the pitiable and shameful secrets of his miserable life with the Dursleys. And of course Snape was going to turn a blind eye to the kicks, punches, hexes and insults that were bound to be thrown Harry's way.

None of that had happened. The only insult he'd had - a lacklustre attempt by Daphne and Pansy - had been instantly punished by Snape with lines. Malfoy's badge fiasco hadn't been punished, but Harry suspected that was a rare omission. Even on Tuesday when Archie Delingpole had been pestering him to play snap, Snape had stepped in to tell the first-year to leave him alone, although that had been so he could finish his Potions homework. But all in all, things were okay. Snape still rolled his eyes, sighed a lot and talked to him like he was feeble-minded. Then again, that's how he seemed to speak to everyone.

"He's been alright."

"And Malfoy?"

Don't spill about Malfoy, Harry cautioned himself. He knew if he mentioned Malfoy's meltdown, Snape would be decidedly less than alright.

"I'm sure he still hates me, but Snape makes him toe the line."

Hermione leant back on the wooden pillar, relieved at her friend's answers - and Harry loved her for it. Having someone who truly cared about your well-being was priceless. A second later and a blur of blue went crashing into the side of the dais. Hermione leapt to her feet.

"Are you alright?!"

Archie Delingpole shook his head and gave a huge, toothy grin down the hall to Malcolm Baddock, "Good one, Mal!" The two first-years were flinging each other shot-put style down the hall, skidding at tremendous speed on their bottoms thanks to the highly polished floor.

"You're going to end up hurting yourself, or someone else." Scolded Harry, "And you should be back in the common room."

"You're not!"

"I'm not a first-year and I'm not disobeying Snape." Countered Harry.

"You are!" Malcolm Baddock had joined his pal, and the lower school pair were thinking themselves very clever. "You called him Snape; it's 'Professor' Snape or 'Sir'!"

"Let's find Professor Snape and ask him which annoys him most - missed curfew or a name slip." Said Harry, feeling as if he'd morphed into AB all of a sudden. The cheeky pair scooted off, though not in the direction of the dungeons.

"Since when did you turn into a big brother?" Asked Hermione with a grin.

"I know! I don't think I'd ever spoken to anyone younger than Ginny before. You know, Archie's actually a great kid …"

Hermione tilted her head, "His surname's Delingpole, isn't it?" She thought some more. "The Delingpoles are an ancient family. I read about them in _Wenlock's Wizarding Who's Who?_ There's been a Delingpole at Hogwarts since the founders were here, and always in Slytherin - though I've read that Claude Delingpole, the father, is actually a thoroughly decent sort."

No sooner had she said it than she recognised the implied insult and apologised.

"It's okay. I am really a Gryffindor, you know!" Harry laughed, but all the same, that comment coming from Hermione stung a little. Bloody hell! What was happening to him?

"There's something else I've heard, but I just can't recall it now." The girl with the encyclopaedic mind was cross with herself and she jabbed at her thigh, willing herself to remember. She couldn't and the conversation drifted back to Viktor Krum, who Hermione was sick of hearing about - apparently Ron had been talking of nothing else.

"Potter."

The voice was unmistakeable.

"Sir?" Harry shot to his feet.

"Sit back down." Snape said, "You're not in trouble. Have you seen either Baddock or Delingpole?"

Harry waited a split second too long to answer and Snape knew he had.

"Listen to me, Mister Potter. These are two first-years out after curfew, and most probably out of bounds. Withholding information is not loyal; it's negligent."

"They ran off to the kitchens." Harry answered, and then watched Snape go striding off there with a face like thunder.

Both of them could only stave off yawning for another twenty minutes, which annoyed Harry no end. Friday and Saturday were the only nights Snape didn't set a bedtime. The Git had probably sent them haring off around the quidditch stadium on purpose that morning just so they couldn't enjoy a late night. But as Hermione was worn out also, he gave in with only a few grumbles and made his way to the dungeon staircase.

Rounding the granite column at the foot of the stairs, he saw his housemaster ahead of him marching the two fugitive first-years to his office. Their cheekiness had evaporated and Archie was whining just like Dudley on the rare occasion that Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon had denied him something. And just like Dudley had been wont to do, Archie also dropped to the floor in an act of non-compliance. Whenever Dudley had done that, his aunt and uncle had crumpled in their resolve. Not Snape. He let go of Baddock and pulled up Delingpole, landing a solid smack in the process. Harry did a double-take - and then reflected on what a shame it was no-one had done that to Dudley.

 **oOo**

Nott and Zabini weren't back yet, but Crabbe and Goyle were both in the dorm, sitting on their beds watching over Malfoy. If Ron had been with him, he'd have laughed. But standing in the doorway on his own, he found it quite a touching sight - even if they did look like two circus chimps whose trainer had been knocked out cold.

"It's okay; you won't wake him. Snape must have given him a sleeping draught."

Harry was about to reply that he wasn't much fussed if he woke sodding Malfoy or not, but he couldn't say it. Goyle was being oddly human. Instead he slipped into bed and thought of the two people he generally tried to banish from his mind. Malfoy with his distraught and angry crying. And Snape, not only taking a vicious kick to the shin without hexing Malfoy, but coming on like a worried dad with Malcolm and Archie. It all hurt his brain; things were much easier when you simply loathed a person.

 **oOo**

"Are you asleep?"

"What do you want Malfoy?" A groggy Harry whispered.

"Can't sleep."

So what? But Malfoy had hold of his arm and was pulling him up. Harry gave in and followed him to the deserted common room. The candles were all out but the fire was going strong. Both dropped to the rug and leant back on the sofa.

"Are you a liar, Potter?"

"No."

"Snape said you wouldn't say anything about what happened earlier. Is that true?"

"Yes."

Draco pulled a tuft from the woollen rug and tossed it in the fire. Harry wanted to ask if he could get back to bed now, but he knew there was more.

"You still heard … still heard what I said about my father …" More tufts were yanked out. "You should be grateful your father's not around any more; he'll always be perfect for you."

Harry looked at Malfoy as if he were mad.

"You get to keep the dream. You'll never have to see him uncaring, selfish, pathetic …"

His first thought was to be outraged and tell Malfoy that his sodding father could never be compared to James Potter. Most probably he should also have come clean that he'd hardly understood a word of what Malfoy screamed earlier. But he did neither; he was so taken aback at the out-of-character honesty that he just sat.

"Those packages have come every Friday since I came here. From my father, I thought. I never even wanted the sweets, gave them away mostly. Do you know what I did want?"

Harry shrugged.

"I wanted the note that always came with them. I wanted the paper it was wrapped in to look at where he'd written my name. I never imagined him buying the damn things for me, but that didn't matter. It was enough that he'd written me a note and addressed a parcel. It made up for so much other stuff."

Malfoy angrily balled up the wool he'd pulled from the rug, and Harry decided to prompt him. "But?" he asked. Malfoy tossed the balled-up wool into the flames and pulled a scrap of parchment from his pyjama breast pocket, handing it to Harry.

"It's a grocery list." Said Harry.

"It is. It must have fallen into the package by accident. Can you see my father going to the shops to buy lamb cutlets and soap powder? He wouldn't even admit to knowing where they could be found, he's so careful to cultivate his pureblood sham."

"I don't understand."

"Nanky, our head elf, sees to all domestic purchases; he wrote that note."

Harry understood, but let Malfoy explain anyway.

"It's the same frigging writing I've been cherishing for the last three years. I've been carrying around address labels until they disintegrate, and all the time they were written by a house elf. That's how much time I spend with him, Potter; I don't even know his writing."

"Maybe he's busy and asks Nanky to do it?"

"Defending my father, Potter?" And Draco finally gave a wry grin, but only briefly. "Mother told Nanky to do it, I'm sure of it. I know her writing; she couldn't do it herself. But it wasn't him … it wasn't bloody well him. All the times he's called me a failure - you refusing to be my friend, not making the quidditch team when you did, Granger coming top in exams - I thought these packages were his way of saying sorry, telling me he still loved me."

Harry had nothing to say. They weren't friends, but he still wouldn't insult Malfoy by offering him an anodyne 'I'm sure he loves you really'. Then he thought of what Malfoy wanted to hear,

"I won't breathe a word of this."

"Thanks. We're not friends, Potter. We'll never be friends … but … but it was good to talk to you. I couldn't tell Crabbe or Goyle; I don't want them knowing I'm upset."

They already know, you prat.

"By the way, thanks for making Alicia come along with me to the potions lab."

"I did it for her." Said Malfoy.

"Still helped me out."

"Yeah well, Flint's an idiot; Snape would have hauled them both over the coals if he'd found out."

Malfoy stopped speaking and turned to Potter, debating whether or not to go on. He did.

"You think my father's bad. You have no idea."

"About what?" Asked Potter. But Malfoy had returned to contemplating the flames. He threw in more strands of wool and watched them burn green for a second before blackening. A spark flew from the fire and landed on Harry's pyjama leg.

"Another hole to add to the collection." Malfoy noted, following the spark to the striped flannelette, "Merlin's sake! Why don't you buy some decent pyjamas? You look like a Weasley in those!"

"Why do you do that? Why do act like a normal human being one minute and then say something awful? Do you think they like being poor?"

"Let me tell you about when I first met the Weasleys. I was coming out of Fortescue's and Charlie Weasley thought it'd be a great lark to show his younger brothers how to do a shoelace-tangling charm. I fell onto the cobbles face first. That brood mare of a mother gave him a half-hearted scolding, and do you know what he said? 'Don't worry mum, the ice-cream broke his fall.' It was all over my face, and she laughed. I was six, Potter, so spare me the lectures."

Malfoy declaiming his father's faults and ignobility from a staunch Gryffindor family - it was too much for Harry. He abandoned the earnest conversation and poked his companion on the thigh.

"You're a rubbish fighter, by the way!"

"True … I'm far too refined for brawling …" Draco's eyes flashed menacingly, "but I am a demon at hexing! Got your wand, Potter?!"

Harry didn't and Malfoy knew it. He'd dragged him off before Harry could reach under his pillow and get it. He looked as Malfoy pulled his from the waistband of his pyjamas and scuttled back quickly, remembering the white heat that had come so close to hitting him at the start of term.

"Relax. Snape went berserk after I hexed you the last time; there's no way I'd risk that again."

"You missed then, too." Harry reminded him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Snakes and Lions Together**

 **Tuesday evening, 17** **th** **November, Week 3**

Goyle and Crabbe stood like sentinels at the ends of the two library stacks that encompassed all the books from _Vishnal Vhadi and the Lost Wizards of the Hindu Kush_ to _Wiggentree Planting for Beginners._ Behind them was the long, rectangular table where the rest of Slytherin's fourth-years sat with Malfoy at the head of the table. Hermione led the line of anxious Gryffindors who'd accepted the study invitation. It was a pitiful showing - herself, Ron, Neville and Lavender Brown, the latter tagging along only because Hermione had fibbed that Armitage-Brown occasionally accompanied the Slytherins.

Hermione looked a bit embarrassed as the ten Slytherins, plus Harry, eyed the four Gryffindors.

"Seamus and Dean were going to come," She said.

Bloody hell! I'm glad they didn't, thought Harry.

"but something odd happened to Seamus …"

"Yeah?" Asked Harry, pretending to be interested.

"Yes. Apparently he's been stood right in front of the bathroom mirror for the last hour. Ron says as soon as he moves away, a huge purple boil appears on the end of his nose. It goes away again when he stands still in front of the mirror. Odd thing to happen, isn't it?"

Odd and brilliant, thought Harry. He looked to Nott; 'three hours' mouthed Theodore. Looking back to Hermione, Harry could tell she knew what had gone on _and_ she was amused by it. Not that she was smiling; she was far too much of a poker face for that. Malfoy, Zabini and Nott were also watching her, shocked and impressed when they detected the faint glint of naughty amusement in her eyes. Next Malfoy sniggered as Goyle and Crabbe grew tired of the shilly-shallying and 'ushered' the Gryffindors into the alcove - a firm shove between the shoulder blades and a 'Glad you could join us; get in.' He welcomed the guests and Hermione responded in kind, though she came off sounding like a primary school teacher and Pansy added a 'Thank you, Miss!' at the end. The Gryffindor began pulling out her Potions work to mask her embarrassment.

"Shall we work on DADA instead?" Asked Harry as he saw the Potions textbook.

"This is due before that."

"Done it."

"Oh, well done Harry!"

Pansy lapped up the exchange.

"Good lickle Harry!" She oozed, "Is Miss going to give you a gold star?! Ouch! Millicent!"

"Why blame me?! There are other people here!"

"Who kicked me?!" Demanded Pansy.

"I did!" Said Nott.

"No, I did!" Cried Tracey.

"You didn't; I did!" Objected Malfoy.

"You were right the first time, Pansy; it was me!" Millicent smirked.

"Actually it was me. I didn't mean to! Trevor was crawling down my trouser leg; it tickled …" Neville finished lamely.

"Face it, Pansy; who doesn't want to kick you?!" Zabini asked.

Hermione stared at the Slytherins. She wasn't sure what she'd expected of them, but it wasn't this.

"We all did the potions work last night. I can lend you my notes, if you'd like." Offered Harry, "It was interesting."

Harry was being truthful; it had been interesting work, figuring out how the runespoor strands could imitate and enhance the body's own blood-clotting mechanism. But still he cringed having used the words 'potions' and 'interesting' together in Ron's hearing. He didn't need to look at his friend to see the bafflement - it radiated off him in waves. He tried to make things better.

"It was interesting 'cos it's such a useful thing to know."

It didn't work.

"Pffft! Bloody hell!" Exclaimed Ron.

"Yeah, a blood-clotting potion - like that's ever going to come in useful!" Quipped Millicent.

Ron looked like he was about to leave but Zabini pulled out a deck of cards and lured him into staying with a particularly fiendish trick.

"Well, I'm getting this done first." Said Hermione, "I don't want another detention from Professor Snape."

"You got detention?!" Pansy asked and Hermione gave a shamed nod.

"Did Snape finally get fed up of you handing in too much work?!" Asked Draco.

Hermione flushed. He was joking, but she'd been warned about that.

"Lighten up, mu … Granger. We live with the man, remember? We know what he's like."

The card tricks were causing an amused ruckus at the end of the table and Madame Pince loomed large to _shush!_ everyone in the alcove. Hermione called over to Ron and Neville.

"Keep it down; we don't want to lose any points!"

She then realised that might be a touchy subject with Harry.

"Sorry, but we've been trying to build them up since … since … you know."

Millicent tilted her head at Hermione.

"You're a brainy girl; why do you care about points?"

It seemed such a bizarre question to Hermione.

"You have to try and earn points and … and win the house cup! You have to!" She said.

"We tried that in our first year." Said Draco. "Actually we came top - for about three seconds; and then what happened? Dumbledore awarded his old house 170 points."

"400 points in the second year." Added Pansy.

Ron smirked, but Harry and Hermione just looked uncomfortable.

"Ah! Those victories were sweet!" Crowed Ron.

"Why?" Asked Millicent. "Did the heavens part and shower you all with riches? Did you bathe in milk and honey the next year?"

Ron gave his trademark reply of ' _Barking_!', but Hermione thought on what Millicent said.

"Slytherin had the house cup for seven years in a row before we came - and bear in mind Snape never gives points." The Gryffindor brainbox was thinking aloud.

It was true, mused Harry. The Git never gave points - he was a dab hand at taking them, though.

"It couldn't have just been the quidditch wins …" Hermione speculated.

Her muttering continued; the Slytherins were always prepared for classes; they always completed homework on time; whatever one thought of them, they were respectful in class - apart from Malfoy's shameful conduct with Hagrid.

"I just don't get it!" She cried. "How can that even work?! If you don't care about points, what makes you work hard?!"

"How about we work hard because the lessons are important?" Snorted Millicent.

"I know that!" Snapped Hermione - outraged that someone had queried her devotion to learning.

"Really? So if you perfect a summoning charm, does it become meaningless unless you're given 10 points by Flitwick?" Asked Millicent.

Harry watched the exchange nervously. Hermione was like a sister to him, but he'd grown fond of Millicent too. What if the Slytherin got his Gryffindor pal in a headlock like she had in second year; what would he do then? Hermione screwed up her face and tossed her hair - the tell-tale signs that she was thinking extra hard.

"You're right." She announced - and Harry exhaled in relief. "Shame …" Murmured Zabini, who'd obviously had the same suspicions as Harry, "I thought the 'Bulstrode Brawler' was going to launch herself at Granger's throat!"

"Not after Snape discussed that tactic with her after the duelling club!" Sniggered Pansy. "And right in the middle of the common room too!"

Harry saw Millicent's cheeks flame.

"Shut it, Pansy!" He growled, "And, by the way, did you know your eyebrows meet in the middle?"

"They do not!" Pansy shrieked and went racing out of the library, pulling Daphne with her.

"That was mean, and untrue." Hermione scolded, "But she was mean too, so hopefully she learns a lesson."

"Yeah well, what goes on in Slytherin stays in Slytherin, and …"

"Bloody hell! I've heard it all now! I'm off!" Ron snatched for his satchel strap and stomped off noisily, to the dismay of Madam Pince.

"I was going to say 'and what goes on in Gryffindor, stays in Gryffindor'. I was!" Insisted Harry.

"It's okay, Harry. I'm glad to see you making the best of things down in Slytherin. You're going to learn so much, and I'm not just talking about the subjects. But I'm still not certain how Professor Snape manages to control you all; I mean, he doesn't take points from you and you hardly ever get detentions and …"

"In my case, you can put it down to breeding!" Smarmed Malfoy.

"He was bred for the sole purpose of being an arrogant prat!" Said Nott.

"All the same, I'd love to know …"

Yeah, so would Harry. Thus far, he'd been sent to bed early and stood facing a wall for the best part of an hour, but surely Snape couldn't do that to everyone who crossed the line? He'd have noticed them dotted around the common room like misplaced statues, wouldn't he? Archie had got a good wallop on his bottom and Theo Nott had been thwacked with the potions stirrer, but they were just one-offs, weren't they? Of course they were … Harry couldn't contemplate going further with that line of thought. He'd refused to ask any questions when he was first put in Slytherin, and now he felt like a bit of a berk for leaving it so long - it was like you'd forgotten someone's name at a party, didn't admit it and let half an hour's conversation go by. Once you reach that point, it's too late to ask without looking like an idiot.

"We'd better get down to work," Malfoy looked over at Hermione and winked, "Or Snape'll take a ton of points off us! Emerald? Go and get Pansy and Daphne, will you? They'll be in the girls' lavatories examining Pansy's monobrow in the mirror!"

"She doesn't have a monobrow!" Chided a giggling Hermione, as she gave Draco a playful tap on his wrist with her ruler.

"Oww!" Howled Draco in mock agony, "We come here to get away from Snape!"

"It didn't hurt! You're carrying on like you did with Buckbeak!"

"Oh, don't bring up the Buckbeak drama, please!" Groaned Nott and Zabini.

"You know? My arm still gives me a little twinge!" Malfoy said.

Blaise, Tracey and Theo pelted him with rolled-up parchment, and Hermione and Harry found themselves laughing - who'd have thought they'd be doing this a year ago? Madam Pince flew around the corner and issued a very loud _SHUSH!_

"Keep the noise down, Madam Pince; this is a library, you know!" Said Draco.

Hermione gasped at the comment, but the librarian chuckled. The curly-haired young Gryffindor sat back in her seat shocked and then acknowledged that while Draco had been a bit cheeky, he'd also been funny. Madam Pince saw that; she'd just laughed and wagged a warning finger at him.

Pansy returned looking wounded; Daphne stood behind her, looked at Harry then pointed to Pansy's necklace. Harry apologised and complimented Pansy on the flattering piece of jewellery. She was placated. Even Ron, who was lurking four stacks down, allowed himself to be drawn back when Crabbe asked him a chess question. Hermione did her potions homework unaided, but Ron, Neville and Lavender gratefully made use of Harry's notes. Harry worked with Zabini on DADA and later Hermione teamed up with Millicent and Emerald Sykes to do the same. Madam Pince sounded the ten-minutes-to-closing-time bell.

"I still have my Ancient Runes to do!"

"So?" Ron asked Hermione.

"So I need _Ptolemy's Arcane Runes De-Mystified_ from the reserve section and the library's closing soon!"

Ron was too busy running through the finer points of Zabini's card tricks to pay much notice to Hermione. Harry felt a pang looking at her. He was so grateful; she'd made a mammoth effort to make this joint study group work, he knew the others hadn't really wanted to come, and he had no wish for her evening to end on a sour note. He pulled her into the adjacent stack.

"Can't you just get the book tomorrow and hand in Runes late? Professor Babbling won't care about one day."

"I can't! I know it's silly, but I've never given in late homework in my life; I just can't do it."

Harry looked at her. She did sound a bit mental, but then he'd slept with his Nimbus 2001 when he'd first got it; how mental was that? He was about to offer her his cloak so she could sneak in later, but she'd never do that on her own.

"I'll get that book for you tonight." He told her.

"No. It's my problem; I'm not getting you into trouble."

"Hermione, I won't get caught; I'm an old hand at this, remember? I'll leave it with the Fat Lady by midnight."

"Harry, I really don't want you getting into trouble …"

"Relax! It'll be good for me; I haven't used that cloak all year. In any case, what more can happen to me? I'm already stuck in Slytherin with this lot; things can't get any worse!"

Draco leant on the other side of the library stack, the smile suddenly gone from his face.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N 1** This chapter has corporal punishment in it. If you'd prefer not to read that, then I'm sure you'll be able to pick up the plot easily enough in chapter 10.

 **A/N 2** Thank you to 'guest'! It seems this is the only way I can reply to you.

 **A/N 3** Shout out to **Hamlet**! Thanks for the kind comment!

 **Chapter 9: Not Lines**

At half an hour to midnight Malfoy secretly shadowed Potter up the staircase, past the History of Magic classrooms and on towards the library. Potter had a plan in mind; he was going to get the Runes book that Granger was desperate for, but Malfoy didn't really know what he was going to do. Bugger up Potter's plan somehow; that was all the scheming he had as he slunk silently along the corridor. It was only a week ago that Snape had tightened Slytherin's already stringent rules, issuing a series of scarcely veiled threats at anyone who thought they could break the rules. Potter must be barmy! Sneaking out after curfew and lights out; Snape's going to murder him! Then he realised that he too was out of bed and well away from the dungeons. Malfoy's mind clicked and whirred. As yet he didn't know how he was going to pull it off, but he now had his plan. Get Potter caught in the library, and deliver him unto Snape. Serve that ungrateful Gryffindor bloody well right!

He paused as Potter stopped and wrapped himself in his cloak. Of course he'd heard about Wonderboy's bloody cloak; the whole school had heard of it. The things I could do with that, thought Malfoy. His jealousy was overcome by realising that Potter was wearing shoes, and hard soled shoes at that. What idiot gets the great good fortune of an invisibility cloak and then stuffs it all up by wearing shoes that can be heard three corridors away? Potter's a bloody lightweight, thought Malfoy, as he looked down at his own sock-clad feet. Mind you, he was feeling far from smug. Crabbe had woken by chance and roused Goyle to follow him. It was a miracle Potter hadn't heard them; the lumbering pair couldn't tread lightly no matter how hard they tried, and Draco turned to scare them off.

"You do know what guards the archives, don't you? It's the disembodied heads of witches and warlocks tortured by muggles in the Middle Ages …"

"Wh … why just heads?" Asked Goyle.

"Their bodies were flayed to ribbons. Only the heads were left." Malfoy finished gruesomely.

And then, in the distance, Harry Potter shrugged his cloak from around his head to scan the reserve titles more clearly. Goyle staggered back in fear, pulling Crabbe with him. Malfoy's ruse was working too well. The pair knocked into a stack of books, sending them tippling to the floor; folios came loose and fluttered angrily under tables and chairs; tears welled in Goyle's eyes and he began babbling that he was sorry for being bad. Draco reached out an arm to pat him and calm him down, but the action terrified him. Goyle thundered out of the library, his flailing arms sending books flying all along his path. Crabbe followed and Malfoy surveyed the mess. In less than a minute the library looked like Peeves had had a massive hissy fit. Potter had seen them, but what was he going to do? Run and tell Snape? Not likely. He turned and fled in the same direction as his friends.

 **The following day, Wednesday 18** **th** **November Week 3**

Potter stood in the entrance hall feeling annoyed. He'd been having a right laugh with Zabini and Millicent. The pair of them had stuck up for him when Ernie Macmillan had yet again been whispering snippy remarks about him in Charms. The Hufflepuff was now wondering if Harry's getting himself into the Triwizard Tournament wasn't simply an attempt to steal Cedric's glory, but some pathological need to have all the teaching staff worried sick about him. Could it be that the Golden Boy didn't get quite enough kisses and cuddles as a toddler, wondered Ernie. Macmillan was such a bright spark and worded his 'musings' so well that Potter was temporarily plunged into an abyss, thinking the Hufflepuff was onto something.

But Millicent Bulstrode was a force to be reckoned with - and she soon yanked Potter out of the abyss with her own 'wondering' on how Macmillan was going to support Diggory after she'd punched his face in.

"Can you still cheer when your teeth have been smashed in?" Bulstrode enquired.

"I'm sure you can - but it would be excruciating. What do you think Macmillan?!" Asked Zabini.

That shut Macmillan up, but Millicent wasn't satisfied; something about the Hufflepuff's comments had really ticked her off. Potter abandoned any effort in Charms and started to joke and gently tease Millicent. He remembered Pansy's comment in the library about how displeased Snape had been with Millicent fighting. The last thing he wanted was for her to get another telling off from The Git. It worked for a while and the three of them had a hoot; Flitwick wasn't too pleased and they were all given a few pointed 'looks'. However, they got through the lesson without a detention and so they trooped on to Transfiguration.

By the end of McGonagall's class, Millicent had worked out her plan. She'd drafted a note supposedly from Dumbledore to Macmillan,

 _Dear Mr Macmillan_

 _Your efforts to understand Mr Potter's 'issues' were very heartening, and no less than I would expect from a member of your house - care and empathy being the very cornerstones of Hufflepuff. Nevertheless, I am concerned that Mr Potter might have misconstrued your concerns as being no more than spiteful barbs. I therefore think it may be wise to hone your nurturing side. As such, it would please me greatly if you would present yourself to Madam Pomfrey and offer your services in cleaning the hospital wing lavatories. There has been a spate of stomach upsets of late and I'm led to believe they are in a most disreputable state. Your presence in the hospital wing is both appreciated and expected._

"Just the kind of passive-aggressive tosh Dumbledore would write!" Millicent declared, feeling very proud of herself.

Potter almost automatically leapt to Dumbledore's defence - _almost_. The man had, after all, abandoned him to the not-so-tender mercies of Snape. Instead he went rushing off with them in search of Pucey, who, Zabini assured Potter, did an excellent line in forging the headmaster's handwriting. But just about to gallop down the dungeon stairs, Malfoy had rushed past him and thrown his arm around Zabini. Potter immediately backed up. He was steering clear of Malfoy and had avoided him as much as possible that day. He was pissed off that he'd been followed to the library _and_ that he'd had to clear up the mess Malfoy and his goons had made. He hoped he'd put it all back correctly, but couldn't be sure; Professor Flitwick had arrived soon after to do a sweep of the library as part of his night-time patrol and he'd had to scarper.

So he stood alone in the entrance hall, avoiding eye contact with any Hufflepuffs, pretending to be waiting for someone whenever a Gryffindor walked past and not really caring what the Ravenclaws thought. Then the tell-tale shock of blond hair began to ascend the dungeon stairs. The Platinum Pillock sauntered over to where Harry was standing in one of the hall's alcoves.

"Snape's on the warpath; I'd steer clear of him if I were you." Said Malfoy.

"Why?"

"Madam Pince has just been to see him and he's hopping mad. Apparently someone was in the archives after hours. Don't know why Slytherin always gets the blame, but this is Hogwarts, I suppose. You know, Potter? Now that you're 'stuck' in Slytherin with 'us lot' you may find that a lot of things start getting worse."

He paused for a while to let his words sink in - glad he had; it was very gratifying to see the expression on Potter's face.

"Come to think of it …" Continued Malfoy, "You were out after curfew. I saw you. I saw you leave the dorm!"

Potter's expression just got better. Malfoy knew he'd seen him, but Potter couldn't say anything without landing himself in it. In any case, the prat deserved it. After he'd gone and invited Weasley and his cronies to their study group and made such an effort, Harry Bloody Potter had the nerve to slag off Slytherin to Granger. He lapped up the worry on Potter's face. No sooner had he made his accusation than he heard Snape's voice and Malfoy's eyes flashed with mischief.

"Sir?" Called Malfoy, "May I have a word in private?"

He raced over to the other side of the entrance hall.

"Is it urgent? I need to see another student." Said Snape.

"I'm afraid it is, sir."

Snape drew Malfoy into one of the nearby corridors. He's telling him, thought Harry; now what am I going to do? The only thing that made any sense was to admit all - and do it quickly, so that it didn't look like he was prompted to act by Malfoy. Snape hadn't seen him; he might be able to get away with it. Bloody Malfoy! He'd wait for the slimy toad to surface, then go and admit all to Snape. Probably get himself detentions from now until the sixth year, but Snape's wrath had to be milder if he confessed, didn't it?

He glowered at the wall and waited for Malfoy's return. Soon enough he came swaggering back to the hall, and even gave Harry a wink. That was it! He'd obviously stitched him up, and any second now Snape would be looking for him. Harry had to go and tell him about the library straight away.

"Where're you going?!" Demanded Malfoy.

"To Snape. I'm going to tell him all about the library."

Draco actually staggered back a few steps as he watched Harry turn and flee, then he pulled himself to his senses.

"Are you mad, Potter?!" He called at the retreating back. "Dammit! Self-righteous, bloody Gryffindors!" He cried, and went haring off after Potter.

Fortunately for Draco, Potter went straight to Snape's office - precisely where the housemaster wasn't at that moment. He caught up with him as he was making his second pounding assault on the door.

"Good job he's not there; you'd catch it for knocking like that." Said Malfoy.

"Where is he?" Demanded Potter.

"Not telling."

"Grow up, Malfoy! I know you told him about me going to the library; I just want to admit it before he tackles me. Look, I'll still get about fifty feet of lines and a hundred detentions if that's what you're worrying about."

Malfoy was flabbergasted.

"Why can't you just stop and use your brain; I mean you do have one; you're not a Weasley!"

"Don't you say anything about…"

"Shut it, Potter! Listen for once. Of course I didn't tell him about the library; how could I do that without admitting I'd sneaked out?"

That made sense, or did it? Would Snape really care about a Slytherin breaking the rules if he had the opportunity to go after him? Then again, Snape didn't seem to go that lightly on his Snakes but Potter wasn't about to stand by and allow this prat to lecture him.

"You're not holding that threat over me, Malfoy. I don't care how many lines he gives me, it's better than being beholden to you!"

"Lines?! Why do you keep going on about lines? _Oh_!" Realization struck. "Oh! This is too good!"

Potter was infuriated to see Malfoy smirking.

"Are you seriously telling me you have lived under Severus Snape for three weeks without finding out his rules?! Oh wait, that would mean asking a Slytherin; can't have that, can we?"

"I've figured most of them out! I know you have to stand up when he enters the room; I know about lights out and I know Greengrass and Parkinson got nine sheets of lines for having a go at me my first night."

"Dream on, Potter! Daffy Daphne and Precious Pansy got nine alright, but it was nine whacks with the slipper - and when I say 'slipper' I mean _not_ a slipper."

Harry scoffed at first, then looked again at Malfoy's face.

"Snape can't do that! Dumbledore wouldn't allow it!"

Now Malfoy looked askance.

"Says who? I think you'll find Dumbledore's cloying compassion is confined to the students he actually likes. Slytherin House marches to the beat of Severus Snape's drum."

Harry was in shock. Not because of the slipper revelation, a part of him always knew those rumours were true, even though he'd banished them from his conscious mind. The real reason he was in shock was because this was happening to him. Yes, he broke rules - but he didn't break rules for any Slytherin-type reason. He broke rules only out of necessity, out of nobility even.

Goyle's freak out in the library had put the kibosh on any nascent scheming of Malfoy's to get Potter caught out of bounds and wandering around after lights out. He'd been royally pissed off at both Crabbe and Goyle about that. But things hadn't turned out so bad after all. He took a few moments to congratulate himself on wielding the old quick thinking Malfoy magic and giving Potter one heck of a righteous scare. Just look at the great ninny, thought Draco, standing there gaping and disbelieving over a few whacks with the slipper. What a tosser! But eventually Malfoy grew bored of Potter's constant mantra of 'but Dumbledore wouldn't allow it; he wouldn't!'.

"Right you are then Potter; just mention that to Snape and I'm sure he wouldn't dream of laying a finger on you!"

Potter groaned and Malfoy had definitely had enough.

"Pull yourself together, Potter! It's no fun, but it's only a slippering. In any case, it won't happen because I'm not stupid enough to believe your head was roaming around the library by itself and then go blabbing to Snape about it; I'm not Goyle, you know! Oh shit, Goyle!"

"What?"

"Oh bugger … I forgot about Goyle!"

"Where's Snape now?" Asked Harry suspiciously.

"In the dorm talking to Goyle."

"Malfoy, you bloody idiot!"

"What?! I can't be everywhere! I had to stop you!"

They scrambled up from where they'd been slumped outside the office and sped towards the common room door. Both of them yelled the password and flummoxed the door so much it didn't budge an inch. There was a heated argument about who was going to utter the password and who was going to shut up. No sooner had Harry agreed to defer to Draco's standing as a permanent Slytherin than the grinding of stone met their ears.

"About face gentlemen. Time we had a little 'chat'."

With that, Snape took them to stand and wait outside his office.

 **oOo**

Draco plundered his pockets and pulled out two fizzing whizzbees.

"Want one?"

Harry declined and Draco put them away.

"What did you mean when you said the slipper isn't a slipper?" Asked Potter.

Malfoy leant his back against the wall, let out a long sigh and slid down to seat himself on the ground. Harry followed suit.

"A carpet slipper doesn't hurt at all. Snape's _isn't_ a carpet slipper; it's a gym shoe. From the looks of it, it's his old gym shoe from school. Ever felt one of those?"

"Nope, and can't say I'm looking forward to it."

Neither was Draco, but then it wasn't the end of the world. It would be over with quickly; he'd rethink any future night-time shenanigans and life would go on. But for now he felt compelled to capitalize on Potter's stunned silence and tease him.

"You Gryffindors … all so pampered by McGonagall. You break any rule in the book and what happens? You get given detention with Hagrid. Admittedly, any sane person would be horrified at having to sit in his grubby, little hut and drink tea with him, but you lot all love it."

"What?! That's not what happens! We don't drink tea!"

"Oh, that's right. You go out spotting unicorns! Some punishment! Wait until Snape gets hold of you, you'll know you've been punished then …"

Malfoy forced himself to give a shudder he really didn't feel. He did debate sniffling but, no, he couldn't bring himself to do that in front of Potter.

"Some of the thrashings I've had from Snape … Oh, Merlin!" From the corner of his eye, he spotted Potter turning ashen-faced and decided this slippering would be worth it.

 **oOo**

Once he'd ascertained they did understand the meaning of 'lights out', 'curfew' and 'out of bounds', Snape quickly delineated the rules that had been broken, extracted an apology from the pair and confirmed the penalty.

"Potter - to the sofa." He ordered brusquely.

He went to his desk and pulled open his middle drawer.

"Are Crabbe and Goyle getting it too?" Asked Draco.

"That's really none of your concern, is it Malfoy? But I struggle to imagine they would have suggested an illicit jaunt to the library of all places, so perhaps I'll just give you their share."

Draco looked like he was going to kick himself but he didn't. Instead, he scowled and clamped his mouth firmly shut. Taking hold of the rubber-soled slipper, Snape turned to deal with Potter and was surprised to see him perched on the edge of the sofa.

"Just where do you think I intend to apply this slipper? On your feet and over the arm."

Oh God, it's really happening, thought Potter. He'd never been in this position before; he didn't know what to do. He got himself to the sofa and stared straight ahead.

"Don't prolong matters, Potter. No need to stand there like a condemned man dreaming up some poignant last words. It's a slippering; you won't like it, but that is rather the point. Now bend over."

The voice was a little arch, but not the full-on sneer Harry had anticipated. He rocked slightly backwards and forwards over the arm, unsure of what to do. How far should he bend over? Where did he put his hands? Snape crossed his arms and looked bored while Draco sniggered.

"Malfoy. Get over here and show him how it's done."

Even within the confines of the housemaster's study, and with such an undignified goal in mind, Malfoy managed to swagger.

"Stand aside, Potter."

With ease borne of obvious practice, Draco positioned himself and swooped down elegantly until his head lay upon the seat cushion. Snape momentarily glanced at the proffered backside, took aim and brought down his slipper.

"Gah!" He couldn't help but cry out - even when you knew what to expect, that bloody slipper always shocked.

"Think you've got the hang of this, Potter? Two more maybe?" Snape suggested.

And Harry watched as Malfoy was propelled forward twice more with the aid of the ratty, old gym shoe.

"Up, Malfoy. And well done for volunteering that demonstration in addition to your own thrashing."

"In addition?! I thought that was it!"

"Dear me … after all these years, how little you know me."

Draco stomped stiffly back to stand before Snape's desk. But rather than put the fear of God into him, the 'demonstration' almost calmed Potter. Snape was treating him the same way he treated all his Slytherins - a mixture of snark and forthrightness undercut with something that vaguely resembled care for their well-being. He felt part of the gang.

"Six, Potter. Oh, and Potter? This won't hurt me more than it hurts you." Assured Snape.

And then the slipper fell. The noise it made on impact gave him a start, and for the first second that's all it was - noise. Malfoy's such a bloody wimp _,_ he thought, this isn't going to hurt at all. The first second elapsed and … bloody buggering hell!The promised fire in his backside came roaring into life and kept growing with the next five. Never breaking curfew again. Never getting out of bed again, not even for the toilet - I'll wet the sodding bed if I have to.

By number six his eyes had turned glassy, though mercifully he remained a snivelling-free zone. But Draco had been right; it was over with quickly and soon Harry watched Malfoy get his. Until recently, he would have surrendered all the gold in his Gringott's account to witness this, but now? Well alright, there was a bit of satisfaction listening to him gasp, but not the massive rush of vindictive delight he'd imagined.

 **oOo**

The slipper, he discovered as Draco joined him at the desk, was an unwelcome gift that kept on giving. The pulsing throb of his backside made it hard to concentrate on what Snape was saying - something about his cloak, he'd caught that much.

"Well, Potter?" Demanded Snape.

"Sorry sir, I missed a bit of that."

"It does have that effect, doesn't it?" Snape said, holding aloft the slipper and smiling fondly at it. "Your cloak will be confiscated during your stay in Slytherin. Either I will keep it, or if you're uncomfortable with that, you may give it to Professor McGonagall. Which is it to be?"

Offering up his dad's old cloak to The Git? What were things coming to?! But actually, he had no problem with Snape holding onto it. The dungeon bat had been pretty decent about the whole thing - almost set his arse on fire admittedly, but by and large, he'd been okay. The hiding had been a brisk and business-like affair when Snape could have drawn out proceedings and made it truly awful.

"Keep it with you, sir." Answered Harry.

"Very well. I don't expect either of you to never find trouble again, but my customary caveat stands: any more rule-breaking in the near future and you shall receive extra. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Straight to your dorm, both of you. You'll stay there until supper."

 **oOo**

They used Snape's private entrance into the common room, which was fortunate as it meant they only had to skirt along the dimly-lit back wall to reach the dormitory staircase. Raising their legs to negotiate the first stair stretched tender flesh and the boys grimaced. They grimaced even more as Archie Delingpole came flying down the staircase, backed up and eyed them with ill-concealed fascination.

"One smirk Archie, and I'll sneak into Snape's store, break something and tell him you did it." Snapped Malfoy.

"But I never go near his store; I don't!"

"He won't, Archie; I'll see to it." Said Harry.

Young Delingpole looked up at Potter with a mixture of such gratitude and hero-worship that Draco almost puked.

"Don't go pinning your hopes on Saint Potter; he got us both into this mess. And you know as well as I that when it comes to his potions store, Snape'll act first and ask questions later. In any case, it'll be your word against two fourth years."

Archie let them pass.

"Yeah! Two fourth years with massively sore arses!" He called back at them.

 **oOo**

"That was mean." Said Harry as they entered the dorm.

"Was it?" Asked Draco, flopping face first onto his bed. "Who cares? He'll be in the middle of the common room as we speak - informing everyone we've just been walloped. We're the afternoon's entertainment now."

Harry thought back to the catcalling Daphne and Pansy had endured and realized that was true.

"That stinks." He said.

"Get over yourself, Potter. Even best friends laugh when they're not the ones in trouble. In any case, this is Slytherin; we'll be ribbing someone else over their slippering soon."

Harry vowed he wouldn't be, but he kept quiet and copied Draco, nose-diving onto the bed.

"What about Crabbe and Goyle, well Goyle I suppose?" Harry asked.

"What about him?"

"He landed you in it."

"He didn't mean to. He's … well … the truth is he's a bit limited … damaged …"

Facing up to the ire of Snape forces a bond between people. It's not necessarily friendship, but there is something that knocks over the hurdles of petty jealousies and long-held gripes. Draco sank his head into his arms and told secrets that had only ever been heard by Slytherin ears. Goyle and Crabbe Senior were monsters recruited by the Dark Lord for their love of torturing. They didn't need the rewards dangled in front of Lucius; they terrified people purely for the sport.

"I don't know what went on when Greg was little, and you probably think he's too thick to be afraid of anything … but he is afraid, afraid of a lot of stuff, but mostly he's afraid of his father. I shouldn't have scared him; that's why Snape gave me extra - and I deserved it."

"And Vince?" Suddenly Harry didn't feel like calling him 'Crabbe'.

"Vince is … Vince is alright. He's got more family - two older brothers and a younger sister, and his father isn't quite as cruel. He's actually bright, just prefers to muck around with Greg. That's why Snape is always hauling him off to do extra study."

"He hauls both of them off."

"Yeah but Vince gets the work; Snape talks to Greg and I suppose he tries to undo whatever harm he can. He does the same with Flint. It was Snape that failed him last year. I meant what I said last week, Flint really is a moron but at least he had the sense to be grateful to Snape for giving him another year away from home. His parents are gruesome. Snape's a good man, Potter; you should give him a chance. You know, there're a lot worse things than being a dirt-poor Weasley, or having a nutjob father like Xenophilius Lovegood."

Or than being told you're a burden by your only living relatives, thought Harry. The Dursleys would never top his list of favourite people. They hadn't clothed and fed him properly and they'd certainly never nurtured him, but Uncle Vernon had never scared Harry so much he'd gibbered like Gregory Goyle in the library - what had his father done to him?

"I still don't see why you hang around with them."

"The house is important, Potter. I sometimes feel it's all there is."

 **oOo**

The Slytherins were dining early that night. Harry looked around and saw only a few Hufflepuffs and five Gryffindor first and second-years he'd never really spoken to. No food was yet on the table and the boys from the middle and upper years were leaning on the wall behind the benches. Harry thought back to what Malfoy had said about them now being the hot topic and decided he wouldn't join them. Instead he summoned as much sang froid as his aching backside would permit and slid onto the end of the hard wooden bench. No sooner was he seated than Vincent Crabbe decided to take his place - at the opposite end of the long bench. Crabbe plonked himself down with a vengeance - sending Harry a foot into the air at the other end. As he crashed back onto his seat, the fire Snape had lit suddenly returned and he grimaced.

"Welcome to Slytherin!"

Unscrewing his eyes, he saw a table-full of smirking Snakes raising their glasses to him.

"Bastards!" He grinned.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N 1:** Thanks to 'guest', who liked the dynamic in the previous chapter.

 **A/N 2:** Thanks Hamlet! I will continue posting, as I've already finished writing the story. I think we share the same view of Snape - a Snape without snark is no Snape at all.

 **A/N 3:** Thanks to 'guest' who 'stumbled' into the story. I hope you continue to stumble this way until the final chapter!

 **A/N 4:** I've been re-writing canon a little bit - you'll see what I mean.

 **A/N 5:** After reading this chapter, you could be forgiven for thinking that the first task of the Triwizard Tournament is going to be a big thing in this story. It isn't and I apologise if anyone is looking forward to that.

 **A/N 6:** I'm going to post three chapters tonight as they're short and kind of group together. I hope you enjoy them!

 **Chapter 10: Potter's Dark Night of the Soul**

 **Sunday 22** **nd** **November (middle of the night)**

(From the previous chapter)

' _Never breaking curfew again. Never getting out of bed again, not even for the toilet - I'll wet the sodding bed if I have to.'_

That vow lasted four days. Potter paused, his leg half way out from underneath the eiderdown, to reflect on how _un_ -steadfast he'd proven in that particular commitment. Then again, it had been made under the extreme duress of Snape's slipper. Oh bloody, sodding Snape … the very person that had caused the breaking of that vow.

Potter couldn't figure Snape out. He was caustic and unfair and forever rolling his eyes and speaking to people like they were dim-witted three year olds. That bit of him Potter had become used to. What was keeping him awake now were The Git's occasional forays into normality. He'd been forced to admit that Snape wasn't the morose miseryguts that he'd always suspected. The man was quick-witted and lively and spent an awful lot of time with his house. There were even rare moments where Potter found him surprisingly decent, but no sooner did they happen, than Snape went and did something that reconfirmed his 'git' status.

The supper following his appointment with the frayed and tattered footwear item had been a hoot. His inclusion into the club that no one wanted to join - but almost every Snake was a member of - had prompted an outpouring of tales of folk falling afoul of Snape. The 'House of Cunning', it seemed, didn't quite live up to its name. Pucey told some corkers, even Marcus Flint made Potter laugh recounting his botched attempt to cast a featherweight charm on Snape's slipper, as well as every ruler and hairbrush in the dungeons. It seemed Draco was right and poor, old Marcus really was a colossal dunce. Bad luck Flint, but at least you have a very entertaining tale. Of course, Malfoy tried to distance himself from all the humble and hilarious admissions - spinning a line on how he regularly frequented both Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley unbeknownst to Snape - but that blatant fib was howled down and he found himself pelted with half-eaten bread rolls.

Gregory Goyle and third-year Arno Van Den Berg were the last to finish eating, polishing off all the leftover puddings and custard. During the wait for the two gluttons to finish, Potter happened to look left and saw the consummate ease with which Snape leapt down from head table - no need for him to make a diversion to the side steps. It dawned on him just how young Snape was compared to the other professors. Odd to think that the Slytherin housemaster should be working here; not many thirty-four year olds would have given over the best part of their young adulthood to a boarding school. Imagine all the great places he could have gone to instead. But he put away those thoughts as he watched Snape's quick advance upon the Slytherin table. Any second he expected to be told that he and Malfoy had earned themselves a ludicrously early lights out. They weren't. Instead, Snape clapped his hands together and told the third-years to look lively. Tonight was the first of his latest evening innovations; each week he intended to pick a year group to give a demonstration of something they'd learned in classes.

The Git stood behind Arno, rolled his eyes and gave his wand a terse flick. The bowl that Arno was desperately trying to rid of the last remains of custard floated upwards and the spoon wrested itself from his grasp, turned in the air and landed a rap on his knuckles.

"That scraping is excruciating," Glared Snape, "and you'd better have been practising."

"Don't worry, sir; you'll be begging me for tips by the end of the night!"

Snape cuffed him, but it was almost a tender blow and followed up by the faintest of smiles. This is Snape being happy, noted Potter.

Slytherin left the Great Hall en masse with Snape at the vanguard. The third-years were sent running on ahead to prepare and the first and second-years were ordered to go and arrange the furniture for the display. That left Potter and Millicent bang up next to Snape.

"What are the third-years going to show us, sir?" Asked Potter.

"Wait and see."

"I think I've forgotten everything we did in third year." Said Potter.

Another roll of the dark, dark eyes. Potter expected it. Quick as a flash, the housemaster grabbed at Potter's school jumper, pulled him close and gave him a quick shake. Potter hadn't expected that.

"Watch the demonstration carefully tonight. This might be your last chance to make up for your egregious lack of attention in classes."

Alright! Calm down, you nutjob! You were sort of happy two minutes ago, thought Potter. Before Snape could ruin the mood, however, came the consternated shrieking of Madam Pomfrey as she descended the great staircase prodding Ernie Macmillan ahead of her.

"Whatever were you thinking, you silly boy?!"

"Professor Dumbledore told me I had to do it!" Whined Macmillan.

"Fiddlesticks! Why in Merlin's name would he do that? I'll have you know those lavatories are spotless, young man!"

Millicent was thrilled as she took in Macmillan's embarrassed face.

"Is everything alright, Madam Pomfrey?" She asked ever-so-politely.

Poppy Pomfrey seemed unused to addressing enquiries from Slytherins and she directed her response to Snape.

"It's all fine now. I don't know what this young man was thinking; taking it upon himself to come and clean the hospital lavatories indeed! They're always pristine!"

"I'd expect no less." A bemused Snape replied.

"I know they are," Said Macmillan, "but I didn't want to disappoint Professor Dumbledore; that's why I cleaned the … the … other."

Madam Pomfrey shook her head and tutted.

"Then he starts cleaning bedpans! Poor little Terence Dawkins hadn't even finished using it before he yanked it away from him; gave him a terrible shock!"

Millicent now exploded into laughter. She ducked behind Snape's back and smothered her face in his teaching gown to muffle her guffaws. Snape's arm snaked around and landed a few discrete whacks on her, but they didn't have much effect. Once Poppy had shooed Macmillan into the hall for his supper, the housemaster turned and his long fingers found Millicent's chin and raised it up.

"Do I want any more details, Miss Bulstrode?"

"No, sir. I really don't think you do." Millicent replied.

And that was that. He carried on leading his Snakes down to the dungeons and Potter decided he'd never be able to figure The Git out; one minute, he pounced on the slightest infraction and the next he let things go. There seemed neither rhyme nor reason to his moods. So stuff him, thought Potter.

 **oOo**

It was the Draconifors spell, as taught by McGonagall to her third-year classes, that was being demonstrated that night. Arno Van Den Berg and his best chum, Harriett Walsh, pleaded with Snape to let them transfigure a dragon from something larger than a pencil sharpener, but he wouldn't relent and so there were ten tiny dragons pattering around the common room floor and occasionally erupting like almost empty cigarette lighters. They delighted first-years Malcolm and Alicia, who both wanted one as a pet. Potter was reminded of Norbert and had a brief panic that they'd try to snaffle one.

"Cute now, Malcolm. But who wants an old, fire-breathing dragon running around the school?"

"That's no way to talk about your old head of house, Potter!"

"Sod off, Malfoy."

"You're right." Said Alicia to Potter, "We don't want one of them."

Potter felt a sharp elbow in his ribs.

"See? Even our first-years aren't as thick as Hagrid!" Said Malfoy.

"Sod off, Malfoy." Said Potter again, as Alicia continued speaking, "We're working on getting a grindylow out of the lake."

"Maybe not." Said Malfoy in response to Alicia's alarming news.

She scooted off to scoop up a tiny dragon that seemed intrigued by the fire.

"She is joking, isn't she?" Potter asked Malfoy.

"I bloody well hope so."

Before they could investigate Alicia and Malcolm's intentions further, Snape finished his inspection of the transfigured dragons and had the third-years quiz the older students on the various types of dragon. Malfoy beat Potter in identifying the Norwegian Ridgeback and gave his archrival a supremely smug look.

"By the way," whispered Potter, "what exactly did Snape do when McGonagall dragged you down to him after Norbert?!"

"Sod off, Potter."

Snape took over the questioning from the third-years, deciding that the fourth-years could all do with a bit of a review of this particular aspect of transfiguration. Potter wondered what on earth it had to do with The Git if they forgot some parts of another professor's course, but he was slowly becoming accustomed to Snape's tyrannical ways and so endured the mini lecture on Chinese Fireballs, Hungarian Horntails, Ukrainian Ironbellies, Swedish Shortsnouts and others without complaint.

After the first-years were packed off for their library study session, Snape allowed the others to race the dragons. It turned into great fun. The loser of each race had to perform a forfeit and Potter thought he might die of happiness as he got to witness Malfoy standing one-legged on a stool singing ' _How Much is That Doggy in the Window?_ ' In one race, Goyle's dragon veered out of lane and set fire to the bottom of the curtains. His forfeit was to dance an Irish jig. The boy could move! Who'd have thought it?! It went from forfeit to one-man-show in a heartbeat. Eventually, they persuaded the great hulk to sit down and the races continued, but not for long. Pansy upset second-year Lara Templeman by suggesting that the only real value in a dragon was to make dragon skin shoes. She eyed the Antipodean Opaleye covetously and began to estimate how much she'd need to enlarge it to make shoes and a matching bag, making Lara burst into tears. Snape overheard, sent Pansy to her dorm, told Lara to pull herself together and ordered the third-years to re-transfigure the dragons. The races had ended but it had been a good day, thought Potter - at least from suppertime onwards.

 **oOo**

Saturday night had just been plain odd. In the afternoon, Hagrid had asked Harry to visit him after supper with his cloak. He'd become almost distraught when told that Snape had confiscated it.

"Just try, Harry." Hagrid had implored.

No way would Snape give him back the cloak and so he trudged miserably back down to the dungeons wondering what the groundskeeper had had planned. The vaguely happy Snape of Wednesday night had definitely disappeared.

"You've been out of the castle, Potter. Did I not make the rules plain to you? There is to be no lone wandering."

"It's daytime! You said it only applied to the evenings!"

"I don't like your tone. See me in my study after supper."

He didn't think he was in for another bout of the slipper. Malfoy had told him that Snape didn't muck about with such matters; if he found out you'd done something, punishment swiftly followed. All the same, it was bound to be bad. He fell into a foul mood for the remainder of the afternoon as he reflected on the nature of torture. By suppertime, he'd reached the conclusion that real torture wasn't being treated badly all the time. The Dursleys had been consistent in their lack of care and Harry had acclimatized to it, even turning the tables and teasing them occasionally. No, real torture was being decent one minute and changing to be a complete git the next. Snape was torturing him, he decided, and he wasn't going to take it.

He marched down to Snape's study after supper and banged heavily upon the door.

"Thank you so much for still leaving the door on its hinges, Potter." Said Snape.

The housemaster arched his brow when no apology was forthcoming, but Potter didn't weaken.

"I have an appointment and need to go out. You will sit there and copy out the rules on lone wandering around the castle and grounds."

"How many times, sir?"

"Until I get back … in around two hours. I think by then even you should be fully conversant with what is expected."

Snape told him that he'd find parchment in the cupboard and left.

Potter sat and fumed for ten minutes then he debated leaving. Next he began to think straight. Why would Snape make him write lines in his study? He never did that; people usually had to sit and do it in the common room - while everyone else was having fun. Out of curiosity he tried to pull open a drawer. They were all locked. He looked around and saw the mass of parchment that had littered Snape's desk on Wednesday had disappeared. He tried the cupboard. It was open and true to his word, Snape had left a stack of parchment - sitting on top of his dad's cloak. Oversight or plan? Potter never saw where Snape put his dad's cloak on Wednesday; maybe he did just sling it into the cupboard. No time to think now, though. He grabbed the cloak and went racing off to Hagrid.

 **oOo**

So on Saturday night Potter had ventured unseen into the forest and seen Charlie Weasley and his corralled dragons, only this time they were the fully-formed variety. Snape's lecture of Wednesday played in his head as his eyes darted around and he squinted to make out the breeds. Then he heard Charlie speaking. Effing hell! He had to get past one of these?! He tried to calm his breathing and prayed he drew the Common Welsh Green and not the Hungarian Horntail. "Time to go back." Hagrid called out to Madame Maxime, but Harry knew he was really speaking to him.

Thanks to Snape, he knew the dragon breeds before Ron's brother spoke. He also had a fair idea of their behavioural traits. That wasn't luck or coincidence; he was sure of it. He raced back to Snape's study, scribbled one and a half sheets of lines and watched as Snape returned from his convenient appointment and inspected them. All he wanted was one clue in The Git's reaction that might tell him what he was thinking. But Snape had reverted to being his usual sour and unfair self,

"Industrious as ever I see, Potter." He sneered as dropped the sheets of parchment, "Get out."

And Harry began to doubt his earlier suspicions that Snape had ever been trying to help him.

 **oOo**

But now, in the dead of night, as he tiptoed from his bed, the mass of doubts, suspicions and hopes were lurching relentlessly around his head. He really ought to stay in bed. He was exhausted and he'd have to be up and showering in four hours, but who was he kidding? He was a creature of the night. From the age of six, the night time had been his time, eating toast and watching the telly with the volume turned right down at the Dursleys, or wandering the corridors of Hogwarts with a homicidal maniac in tow. He didn't care about the rules; he felt like going up to the Astronomy Tower. Stuff Snape, he thought, and stuff his sodding slipper. No, hang on … maybe he wouldn't go that far. Okay, the Astronomy Tower was out, but he was going to go and sit in the common room.

Zabini rolled over in his sleep and gave him a start, so much so that he knocked into the tall boy's cabinet. Potter checked that all the bottles Zabini had piled up there were still standing. He smiled as he scanned the various creams and lotions vain Zabini used religiously - and wondered if he knew that Daphne and Pansy occasionally sneaked in to plunder his supply. Would Zabini care? Probably not. Potter didn't think he'd ever seen Zabini in a bad mood.

Next to Zabini, Gregory Goyle was bathed in a green glow - making his features appear even more lumpen and ugly. Potter looked and saw a green glowing stone lying on the sheet inches from Goyle's hand. On Wednesday afternoon when Snape had sent them to their dorm, Malfoy had shown the stone to Potter,

"It's his 'safe stone'." Malfoy had said, rolling his eyes, "Snape made it for him. As long as it glows green, nothing can harm him. Bloody thing keeps me awake at night; he's supposed to keep it under his pillow."

Potter carefully reached for the stone and pushed it under Goyle's pillow. Crabbe's bed was next and as he edged his way past, he saw the ever-present chess pieces under a mass of Honeydukes wrappers. Beside Crabbe, almost completely hidden under his eiderdown, lay Theodore Nott. He was a puzzle to Potter. A clever boy, Nott seemed completely normal during the day. He was friendly and had a good sense of humour, but he was also a fellow night time wanderer. Potter had seen him creeping out of the dorm. What kept him awake at night, he wondered.

And last was the Platinum Prat, sleeping like a baby. Potter pointed his weak Lumos and saw the photograph of Malfoy's vile father on his bedside cabinet. Why would he keep that there after all he'd told Potter during their fireside chat? Then again, what did Potter know? He'd only learned what a fine man his father was since coming to Hogwarts, and even if someone told him he was arrogant and cruel like Lucius Malfoy, maybe he'd still worship his memory.

He finally slumped down in front of the fire and struggled to have a sustained thought. Too many of them were dancing around his brain, vying for attention. Crabbe and Goyle weren't the brutes he'd always thought them to be. Malfoy had been human and opened up to him. Millicent had stuck up for him and got one back on Macmillan. And Snape had been decent - and then been a shit again. Three weeks ago he'd have written off Slytherin as being a bunch of evil tossers and a part of him yearned for that certainty now. At least Pansy was being reliably horrible; he could still count on her. He banished all the relentless thinking by focussing on picking off a scab on his shin without causing the sore to bleed. His ploy worked and once all the scabby skin had been flicked into the fire, he saw what was bothering him.

Harry felt accepted. That was the problem, and it had been causing him no end of grief. He felt part of the Slytherin gang, and it wasn't a perfectly hideous feeling. Snape had thrashed him, and Harry didn't hate him any more than he usually did. Yes, he'd gone to the library to help Hermione, but he'd known it was wrong. Snape warned them almost daily against breaking curfew or going out of bounds. He'd broken those rules and to be found out and punished for it seemed somehow right. Try as he might to feel affronted, he couldn't. He also had a fairly well grounded suspicion that Snape actually didn't want him dead. That business with the parchment on top of the cloak? No way was that an accident. Snape tolerating him he'd grown used to. But Snape actually helping him?

He felt disloyal, but disloyal to whom exactly? To Ron who'd turned on him when he needed him most? Ron who could still be friendly, but who could equally be coolly dismissive? McGonagall? Dumbledore? They had to have known how worried he was about the Triwizard Tournament, yet they'd blithely sent him off to the Snake house. No. His real concern was for Hermione. But Harry knew just what she'd say in this situation. She'd tell him he was being silly. That this was a marvellous experience for him and he should make the best of things.

She was right; she most often was. But the settling of one worry only caused a void to open up begging to be filled by another. The tournament! Bloody hell, the tournament! The good thing about moving into Snape's house had been he hadn't lingered on this likely suicide mission, but now he was getting used to being a temporary Snake, it began to seep into his thoughts. What the bloody hell was going to happen with those dragons?


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: Skiving with Pucey**

 **The next morning, Monday**

After not much sleep, Potter woke up and groaned at the prospect of Divination. It was a pain at the best of times, the only saving grace being Ron's jokes and he couldn't be certain Ron would be joking with him. Would he be friendly or surly? Harry didn't know. So straight after breakfast, he made sure Snape saw him trooping off to the North Tower, then peeled off to run outside and lurk behind the greenhouses. It was sheltered from Scotland's icy winds there and had plenty of old crates that could be sat on, or broken up to light a small fire - just so long as Professor Sprout or Hagrid weren't working in the garden beds.

They weren't and Harry smashed apart a crate for kindling when he heard footsteps. He dropped the wood and shrank back behind a wall. A few seconds later he braved a peek and saw that it was Adrian Pucey.

"Come on out, Potter. I'm skiving too!"

 **oOo**

"What are you missing?" Asked Harry.

"Transfiguration."

"Oh!" He admired Pucey's nerve, but McGonagall was going to go mental. Pucey laughed.

"I'm not insane, Potter! I'm skiving with permission, Professor McGonagall's as it happens."

She'd seen Harry making his bid for freedom from her classroom window and become alarmed, asking Pucey to go after him. It wasn't just the burning crate that warmed Harry when he heard that.

"You are important to her, you know." Said Pucey, "I bet she's been watching you like a hawk since you came to Slytherin."

"What if she tells Snape?"

"After everything you've been through, I'm sure he'd understand. He's not a monster!"

Harry looked unconvinced.

"Trust me; you'll be okay. Just don't do this again, or you'll earn a repeat performance of Wednesday. Oh, by the way, did you really start sobbing on Snape's chest after he'd whacked you?"

"Sodding Malfoy! No I didn't!"

"Calm down; no one believed him! Six isn't too bad; hurts like anything at the time, but it's bearable. It's when Snape deems 'extras' necessary you should worry. For some reason, anything over six is an absolute zinger. And on that topic, honestly Potter, you are a clot! Why didn't you ask us what the rules and consequences were?"

"Dunno really. At first, I thought you'd all lie to get me into trouble. Then I thought I could figure things out myself. I'm used to not being included in things, so I'm pretty good at doing that. It's sort of a game for me."

"Oh, the games that lonely children play! Perhaps you've come to the right house, after all."

Harry didn't understand what Pucey meant, but he didn't ask; he was busy puzzling over another thought.

'Hang on, if Snape has such a low opinion of Divination, why would he care if I missed it?"

"Oh, Snape has a very high opinion of Divination, and of Trelawney. He just doesn't believe it's a subject that can be taught. Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. You're taking her class, and so he'd deem missing it disrespectful to her; show disrespect to professors and you can kiss goodbye to sitting for a while. But to understand that, you really need to know about Slytherin House before Snape became head."

More crates were procured for firewood and both boys hunkered closer to the flames.

"My elder brother came here in '78; he had both Slughorn and Snape as head of house, and my sister came in '82 - Snape's tenure. From the stories of their early years, you wouldn't believe it was the same place. I can't make up my mind about Slughorn. You see, it wasn't that he did anything actively bad; his sins were sins of omission. He chose not to see things, not to understand what was going on and not to hear any unpleasantness. And according to Charlie there was a lot of unpleasantness about …"

Slughorn did indeed make it easy for himself not to hear of any nastiness. He roomed away from the Slytherins on the first floor and mostly made contact with them by waving from high table, like an affable but dotty uncle. And from that table he spotted the wealthier Snakes. He gobbled up the tell-tale signs of breeding and money; those students made the cut into the Slug Club regardless of talent. Its members were placed on a pedestal - Horace rather enjoyed the Lalique crystal and Fabergé eggs that came his way, not to mention the Christmas hampers.

"The Slughorns are a very old family. The name still opens some doors, but they've been roughing it for years now … his grandfather developed a taste for speculating, and lost most of the family silver. Poor old Prof. Slughorn never got to live in the manor house, he was stuck in a nasty little cottage. But it's odd how quickly a wizard of modest means develops a taste for the finer things. I'll tell you now, the gifts from parents weren't for his care of the children, they were a reward for his recognising family status. I know because Charlie made it into the Slug Club in his second year - we're a very old family and my parents want our name lauded."

Pucey spoke more about his parents; cold and distant weren't the words. How could they have a son like Adrian Pucey? Harry thought they sounded worse than Lucius Malfoy.

"Charlie became 'a bit of a shit' - his words, not mine. Given the tales he tells, I'd say he became an overly-entitled little sod! Of course he was never like that at home - too scared of father for that. But at school if he fancied something, he took it; he lied; he bullied; he fought and he turned cheeking the professors into an art form - and he wasn't the only one."

"How did they get away with it?"

"They barely saw an adult in the common room. It sounded like it became a club for the rich Pure Bloods. They could do anything they wanted - smoke, drink, stay up all hours and neglect lessons. Slughorn didn't know what was going on; I mean, they weren't stupid. They'd grown up treading an awkward path with severe parents; they knew when they had to behave and when the coast was clear. And their cheek in classrooms took the form of ambiguously insolent questions, sneering looks and quiet non-compliance - difficult things for a professor to draw attention to."

"Were they all like that, the Slytherins, I mean?"

"No. No house is all alike; there's always a mixture. But you know what I've learned? Unhappy people cause an inordinate amount of trouble. They're the ones that spread malicious gossip and engineer fighting, and Slytherin had a lot of unhappy, uncared for people in it. Charlie says he couldn't see it at the time, but really he hated his so-called friends. They were all suspicious of each other, terrified that one false step would see them lose their place in the Slytherin hierarchy. They had to keep constantly upping the ante to stay on top - one person thinks it a lark to use the first-years like house elves, then another has to better it. Charlie's solution was to build a still and sell firewhisky."

"Bloody hell!"

Pucey laughed.

"And my poor sister Emmy!"

"What about her?"

"Well, you see, Snape arrived three years later in '81 and nothing changed at first. Actually Charlie said the house was even more out of control. The Slug Club all saw instantly that he wasn't 'one of them'. Of course, Slughorn had slipped in the rankings, but Snape was very definitely a person that should have used the tradesman's entrance. And Snape had been a student with some of the older ones; they knew his background. So Charlie spent all summer priming Emmy on how to treat him with appropriate disdain …"

Harry was confused. Snape circa '81 seemed so different to now. Then it dawned on him that Pucey's sister might have had the misfortune of cheeking the 'new, improved' Snape.

"What happened?"

"It was the first night after the sorting. Snape had them all stood on the common room steps - a new departure, that one. Anyway, as he walked past Emmy she began sniggering. He asked her if she had something to say and she said yes. She wanted to compliment her head of house on his frugality in still wearing the same frayed, hand-me-down robes he'd worn as a Hogwarts student."

"Rude." Murmured Potter.

"It was. Emmy got a laugh from the rest of the students but Snape said nothing; he just looked at her. Then he told her that his robe wasn't the only thing he'd kept from his school days."

Harry made the leap. "The gym shoe. Did he slipper her?"

"He pulled it from his robes, called her off the steps and told her he was going to demonstrate how serviceable an old gym shoe could still be."

"Right there in the common room?!"

"It's not unheard of. But back then, by all accounts, it was normal. Emmy was only saying what Charlie had coached her to say; she wasn't the arrogant, little madam she seemed. Anyway, she must have looked so frightened that Snape dropped the slipper and turned her over his knee instead. And I suppose all the first-years since have Emmy to thank for Snape hardly ever taking the slipper to them …"

"Is Professor Hagrid burning off, I wonder?" Came a familiar voice from inside the greenhouses.

It was Pomona Sprout; first period was over. Both boys stamped out the small fire and beetled away. As they neared a rear entrance of the castle, Pucey spoke.

"You know, there's a lot more to Severus Snape than rules and timetables. He made a whole raft of changes and they probably saved Charlie, and plenty of others like him. I'll tell you about them some time. Believe me, Snape's a good man."

Yeah, so he kept on hearing. Though after Pucey's tale, he was beginning to re-evaluate him.

 **oOo**

"Does Trelawney let you leave class early?"

Crabbe asked after watching Potter walk across the lawn.

"We should take Divination." He suggested to Goyle.

The rest of the fourth-year Slytherins had just left Arithmancy and Harry fell in next to Zabini and Crabbe on their way to Charms. Pansy paused a moment to look back at where Potter had come from and realised it was nowhere near the Divination classroom. Potter had skipped class. She stored that one in the memory vault for future use.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: The Slytherin Bible**

 **Last Lesson, Monday**

The snow flurry started midway through Herbology. Despite this being their fourth year in the north of Scotland, the sight was still a thrill for those students from the south of England. But if you had to be stuck in classes, then Pomona Sprout's greenhouse was undoubtedly the one to be stuck in. The affable professor smiled as she saw necks craning to watch the snowflakes land on the glass ceiling. She clapped her hands together at five to four and informed her class they'd worked so well there was no more work to be done. It was patently untrue, as some of the Ravenclaws pointed out, but they all packed away like lightning and galloped outside.

Malfoy and co. raced around to stand outside the History of Magic classroom and threw snowballs up at the windows to taunt the Gryffindors who were stuck inside with Professor Binns. Millicent was tempted to join them, but in the end she and Harry made for the lake. The bench there had a heating charm and Millicent wanted first dibs on it.

From her satchel she pulled a small green bottle and two sheets of parchment. Harry watched as she crumpled the parchment into balls, cast a spell and transfigured them into cups.

"How come you can do that?" Potter asked.

"Snape taught us; he doesn't just know potions."

She held up the green bottle and he could make out something at the very bottom of it. Three taps of her wand and the bottled filled.

"What's that?" He asked.

"Chocolate. I nicked it from the kitchens when I left class to use the lavatory. Hold the cups."

He did and she poured what seemed to be a never-ending supply of steaming hot chocolate into them.

"Snape taught you that, as well?"

"No. This is the Minima Maxima Charm."

"Never heard of it."

"You wouldn't have. It comes from The Slytherin Bible. Don't ask me who came up with it; I can't remember. But we all use it for Binns' assignments. You write three sentences about the Goblin Wars, cast the charm and you have a twelve inch essay."

"Brilliant! Wait! What's The Slytherin Bible?"

Ah! The Slytherin Bible. Millicent pulled her cloak tighter and settled back to fill Potter in. The 'Good Book' began, like all great books tend to, as a collection of fireside tales. Around the icy months of '83 the Snakes began to reluctantly concede their housemaster's newfound strictness was not the temporary by-product of breathing in too many potion fumes. It was there to stay. One Saturday evening, after the entire fifth-year had met with the slipper, they moped in the common room and bemoaned their lot. Their reign of terror was over. Never again would they run rampant around Hogwarts; they felt lower than Hufflepuff. Their housemaster had them whipped - literally.

"Except," Said Donal McGuigan, "I had a hoot last Friday with the Ravenclaws! Didn't get to bed until 1am - and Snape knew nothing about it!"

"Yeah, right!" Scoffed Charlie Pucey, "And I pinched McGonagall's backside in Transfiguration!"

"No, really! I did!"

And McGuigan raced off to his dorm and brought back the proof. The Snakes all stared at magical photographs of McGuigan sashaying to and fro, cramming birthday cake into his mouth repeatedly and kissing the birthday girl, Joanna Whitehead. They had only one question - how?

"Remember when someone took my Charms essay? Well, I found it at the back of the elves' linen cupboard in the corridor. It was on the top shelf and I had to climb up and get it. Guess what I found?!"

They couldn't, so he told them. There was an air vent there. An air vent that went into Snape's office. Now on the Saturday afternoon in question, Snape was in his study that led from the office, floo-calling someone and making arrangements to be out all night. McGuigan had found a chink in their seemingly omnipotent housemaster's rule. Of course, there were complications. You had to get into the cupboard without the Bloody Baron catching you. And if Snape closed the door from his office to his study, then you only heard vague details. But it was something, and the Snakes were ready to grasp anything at that time.

Begging letters were sent to older siblings and cousins for similar information and before long, it became tradition, after Snape had been in punitive mood, to gather by the fire and recount the ways in which students could get a 'win'. Someone suggested they write them down and that's what they did. At first, they were merely a random collection of 'stuff you, Snape; we're still not beaten' anecdotes. But as time went on and the collection grew, it became more organised. They had their own Genesis, which detailed Snape's return as housemaster. Exodus listed the varied ways one could escape the dungeon undetected, whereas the Book of Judges listed the likely punishments Snape would mete out should you be caught.

"My favourite," Said Millicent, "is The Book of Lamentations. That's were all the botched attempts at rule-breaking go; Malfoy's authored many a tale there!"

Harry laughed and realised that for all he viewed Malfoy as an arch-villain, the reality was he generally screwed up.

"I bet there's a book on getting Gryffindor into trouble." He said.

"There isn't, you know. The funny thing is how restrained the book is - no dark hexes, no plotting to get rid of mean professors. In fact the Minima Maxima charm is the only thing we have that comes close to cheating."

"Bollocks it is!" Said Potter.

She laughed, "Yeah. There may be one or two more!"

They both sat on the warm bench silently for a few moments sipping their hot chocolate and watching the snowflakes disappear into the black waters of the lake.

"I think Slytherin really changed when Snape came along. I've heard that a lot of the replies that came back, when the Snakes of '83 asked for information, had some really gruesome things in them. They were never used. Look, I've never met Slughorn, so I'm not going to badmouth him, but I'll tell you what I think. I think Snape gets lumbered with a load of students who've never felt wanted or loved. They don't know what it's like to be themselves because they're always changing to try and please a psychotic parent. They don't know how to be friends. They don't like themselves, so how can they like anyone else? Anyway, Snape gets them dumped on him and somehow he makes it work. I meant what I said that first week after Transfiguration,"

"The time you gave me a public telling-off?!" Said Potter.

"Yes! We are happy in Slytherin; we love it here and we love each other."

"Hufflepuff!" Teased Potter and Millicent snorted into her hot chocolate.

"Bloody hell, I am! But back to my point. When you're accepted, when you're wanted … well, there's no need to be vicious. The Slytherin Bible's a hoot, but it's quite tame really. It's just a 'how to' guide for getting the most out of school."

Tame or not, Potter was impressed. It occurred to him that all his means of rule-breaking had been handed to him on a plate - Hagrid inadvertently spilling the beans, Dumbledore giving him his dad's cloak, the Marauder's Map. The Snakes had gone out and discovered their own means - and documented it all so it could be handed down to future students. Millicent poked him.

"Didn't you ever wonder why we all accepted you so quickly?"

To his shame Potter had never wondered about that. He'd been quick enough to imagine the worst the night before he went to the dungeons. But after that, he'd just concentrated on himself, on his own thoughts and feelings. He hadn't given a thought to how the Slytherins must have felt.

"I can't really remember. So much has happened since." He lied.

"Well I remember. We were furious when Snape told us what was happening. Can you imagine how we felt? Dumbledore's Golden Boy does something that would get any one of us expelled and as a punishment he has to go and live with the nasty Slytherins? We wanted to hex you and Dumbledore into oblivion when we heard that!"

"Why didn't you?"

"Why do you think? Firstly Snape threatened to thrash us to within an inch of our lives! But also we sneaked Malfoy and Tracey into the Listening Cupboard."

"Both of them? I thought the air vent was only on the top shelf; how big is this cupboard?"

"It's wide, but not very deep. You're right; it was a really tight squeeze …"

After that news Millicent's words just became white noise in Potter's ears. All he could focus on was Malfoy's jammy luck in getting so close to the lush Tracey. Then again, would he want to get so close? The potential for major embarrassment was huge …

"Are you alright, Potter? You're panting! How can you be hot when it's snowing?!"

"I'm fine!" He squeaked, "Think I'm coming down with a sore throat, that's all. What were you saying? I missed a bit of that."

"We kept the Baron talking in the common room two times while they both sneaked in. One time McGonagall came down by herself and the other time she brought you down. We had to send them both in; Malfoy had to hear for himself what was said, otherwise he'd never believe it. You have no idea what a hissy fit he threw when he heard you were coming to Slytherin!"

"I think I can imagine." Said Potter.

"It was epic! Anyway, he had to hear first hand and we had to have Tracey because we could trust her to report back truthfully. And she fitted in the cupboard - unlike me!"

"What did she report back?"

"Actually, she didn't say anything. Malfoy told us after he'd eavesdropped on McGonagall that the only reason you were coming was because the Gryffindors had all turned on you,"

"Not all of them; Hermione and Neville didn't."

"Okay. All the Gryffindors minus two had turned on you. We couldn't imagine how that must have felt. Then he told us you couldn't be sent home because your family was rotten. That's what swung it for Malfoy and the others. They still weren't happy you were coming, but hearing that made you an honorary Snake even before you got here. Not that I can talk. I'm one of the lucky ones; my mum's a muggle. I wouldn't want to be a Pureblood for all the gold in Gringott's. The second time we listened was pure nosiness. Malfoy was tickled pink at how scared you looked!"

It all seemed so far away now. Potter could laugh at the memory.

"Didn't stop Daphne and Pansy!"

"Purebloods. Daphne's not too bright; does anything Pansy tells her to. And Pansy … well, I'll tell you about Pansy some other time."

Potter glanced over his shoulder at where Millicent was looking. Archie, Malcolm and their crew were hurtling down the snow-covered hill. Obviously what she wanted to say about Pansy wasn't to be shared with first-years. The more time he spent with Millicent, the more he liked her. They sat and watched the first-years, Potter all of a sudden feeling ancient. He loved to watch the snow fall but had no desire to roll around and push Millicent's face into it - a good job, she'd flatten him if he tried. Elsa and Tory now had Archie on the ground and Alicia started shovelling snow down the back of his uniform. Millicent chased the girls off and Potter rescued the damp and cold boy with a drying charm.

"Thanks!" Said Archie, "Oh! I nearly forgot."

He raced to his abandoned satchel and pulled out a bashed up box of exquisitely wrapped chocolates.

"Who sends these, mum or dad?" Asked Millicent, choosing a swirled caramel.

"Mummy … mum," He quickly corrected, "usually sends them and Dad sends my comics, but they've had to go on a trip, not sure where. My old nanny sent them this time and cook sent me this."

He pulled out a tiny snitch the size of his thumb, which swooped and dived all within a four feet radius.

"Don't tell Professor Snape but it's brilliant for playing with when he sends you to bed early." He added in a whisper.

The first-year skedaddled off to re-join his friends.

"They do spoil him, don't they? His family, I mean." Said Potter.

"Yeah, and the army of servants they have, but can you blame them? I bet his parents never thought they'd have him; neither of them are young. And he's … well, he's the only one they have now with his brothers both dead."

"Dead? When? How?"

She didn't know how. There were rumours of course, but Millicent wasn't a gal that set much store by rumours. The brothers - twins Hugh and Christopher - had been at school with Snape, though they'd been in their third year when he was in his seventh. In their final year young housemaster Snape had returned to Hogwarts, and they'd died a year later.

All dreadfully sad, of course. But then Harry had grown up with the spectre of dead relatives around him - and with a loathing for the stubbornly live variety. Rather than Archie's tragic circumstances, he focussed on how it must have felt to bid a relieved farewell to Snape, only to have the bastard return four years later as your housemaster. He found the twins' bad luck to be nothing short of heartbreaking.

"Poor Hugh and Christopher!" He wailed.

"Are you alright?" Asked Millicent, frowning at the outburst. Harry took in the look of censure on the no-nonsense girl and chuckled to himself.

"Sorry, Mill'. Won't happen again!"

"Hufflepuff!" She teased, "Come on; I'm cold. Let's go in."

 **In the Slytherin common room**

Pansy flopped onto the sofa and stretched out her legs across its length.

"Shoes!"

Huffing, she kicked off the black lace-ups and began craning her neck to find where her all-seeing housemaster had positioned himself. Finally she spotted his feet sticking out from a wing back chair, two second-years crammed on each arm and another one perched on Snape's outstretched legs as he explained the importance of weight distribution in achieving a tight turning circle when flying, his long legs serving as an impromptu broom.

The door swung open and Pansy spotted Potter and Millicent ambling through. She leapt to stand before the wing back chair.

"Potter! I've a message from Freckle Face; he says he missed seeing you in Divination, but would you like his notes?"

"Oh, good one. Thanks Pansy!" Harry was touched. Most of Slytherin was decent to him now, even Malfoy in a sneery-but-really-just-going-through-the-motions kind of way. It was Pansy that had been holding out against him. She was only passing on a message - and she'd still managed to insult Ron - but it marked the first time she'd spoken to him with any degree of friendliness.

"Were you sick this morning?" She asked.

"Yeah! Sick of Trelawney and Divination! I had a great time bunking off!"

"Oh, dear!" Simpered Pansy, and then gave a little giggle as she stepped smoothly to the side.

Bloody Pansy Parkinson! Harry watched as Lara Templeman was pulled off the legs she was straddling and stood to the side. Please let it be AB. Please let it be AB. But of course it wasn't. Soon enough the legs found their feet and Snape stood glaring at him. He shepherded the five children ahead of him.

"Do your best to irritate Miss Parkinson until supper, children; she deserves it." He didn't say anything to Harry; just jerked his head towards his office.

 **oOo**

"Oh, what?!"

"You know what." Millicent answered Pansy.

"It was just a joke! Blimey Millicent! My old governess had a better sense of humour than you!"

"You just can't help yourself, can you? I could thump you for landing Potter in it."

"Ooh! Big, scary Millicent … like I'm frightened of you!"

Millicent lurched forward and everyone in the room thought the 'Bulstrode Brawler' was back in action, Pansy included - she jumped back a whole three feet. But Millicent wasn't daft; she certainly wasn't about to face Snape's ire because Pansy was being a prat.

"Here's the thing, Pansy; Potter's in Slytherin now and Slytherins stick together. We're no saints here, but we consider the effect of our words; we think before we speak and we don't sell ourselves short for a few seconds of spiteful 'fun'."

"Draco? Blaise? Make Prissypants shut up. I was only joking!"

But Malfoy and Zabini remained sitting and just folded their arms. Millicent turned round and marched off to the reading area, tossing a 'You're forgiven' over her shoulder.

"Forgiven?! I haven't apologised! And I'm not going to!"

Miles Bletchley stepped forward and eyed the five second-years,

"Isn't it about time you all took Pansy outside to try and pull leaves off the Whomping Willow without getting whacked by it?"

"What?! It's snowing! My hair!" But even Pansy must have tired of her petulance, or more likely, she realised how unimpressed the others were. A moment later and she'd grabbed the hands of Lara Templeman and Penelope Flynn and begun stomping to the door.

"I'd rather be with them anyway." She announced.

 **oOo**

Snape lingered by his door having pushed Potter in ahead of him. His eyes fell on the wooden ruler on his desk and he was tempted to haul Pansy in and give her a dose of it, but it seemed he needn't bother. Millicent Bulstrode was marvellous, he reflected, and if Hogwarts couldn't see what a splendid future headmistress she'd make, well … it was their loss. Likewise Bletchley and all of his prefects. A wonderful feeling when children you've raised repay you with decency. But now he had to deal with shortcomings. Not those of the uneasy boy in front of him, but his own. How could he have ignored Potter for so long? Well, he knew why - the spectre of his bloody father. There were times when Severus Snape wallowed in perversely embittered nostalgia - but don't think he didn't deplore that in himself.

"Am I getting walloped?" Asked Harry, aiming for belligerence and failing.

"Speak like that about a professor in front of the lower years again, and you'll be 'walloped' good and hard in front of the entire house, Mister Potter. Now sit down."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N 1:** Thank you to the guests that commented, and to Hamlet (regarding your question about Snape, we shall see). One person thought the first-years too childish at times, and that's a fair point. I won't dwell on that, as it may spoil the upcoming plot (such as it is!), but I do remember that my friends and I as first-years were always super-soppy around the older boys. I'm not really sure why we were like that; I think we were just in awe of them and felt so gratified when they gave us any attention. Anyway, the story's written now and I don't have the time to change anything, so please bear with me!

 **A/N 2:** Re-reading this (and the next chapter) I noticed that I've started to get a bit sweary. I don't think it's bad, but if you are easily offended by swearing, have a cup of strong sweet tea at hand. Hope you enjoy it.

 **Chapter 13: A Very Much Delayed Talk**

 **Snape's study**

If he'd known just how enjoyable it was to explain the virtues of rules, order and consequences to a self righteous Gryffindor know-it-all, Severus wouldn't have been so remiss and done it at the very beginning. In fact, so gratifying did he find it to spell out rules in excruciating detail and then exaggerate the consequences of breaking them, that he even added some of the extreme and now defunct regulations he'd established in 1982 - when he'd needed to subdue the loathsome batch of Slytherins he'd inherited.

Yes, he'd heartily enjoyed the experience. Nothing like disabusing one of Minerva's Lions of the notion that they had a monopoly on decency. Potter perched on the edge of the sofa, looking for all the world like he'd been slapped around the head. And Severus supposed he had, figuratively speaking. He paused to allow the weight of his words - and the sheer volume of regulations - to sink in. Bloody hell, I'm a miserable bastard, thought Snape, the things that bring me pleasure …

But the housemaster had had his fun; time to move on from such adolescent delights. So, here it was: the moment to see beyond the swine that had sired Potter and finally perform his housemasterly duties. He cleared his throat and watched the boy squint up at him.

"While I realise it isn't an activity you place a great deal of importance on, how on earth can you expect to study with those scratched lenses? Why don't you use your spare spectacles?"

"I don't have any, sir."

"I believe your sight problems were diagnosed as a small child. It is therefore inconceivable to me that you wouldn't have multiple pairs; you've quite obviously left them at home. I am also unimpressed that you gave so little thought to packing your belongings for school that you came with very few non-uniform items. The uniform isn't worn at weekends but I still expect you to dress to a certain standard."

You arsehole! Now you're going to find out about my relatives. Harry Potter was perfectly able to manage the Dursleys. Yes, he was unwanted and bullied and neglected, but he'd learned to cope. What he could not cope with, what truly filled him with dread was becoming an object of pity. 'Plaintive and piteous Potter' being smothered in useless syrupy sympathy, that was the stuff of nightmares for him. Hang on! Thought Potter. Syrupy sympathy?! What am I going on about? This is bleeding Snape. What's he going to do? Cuddle me? Sit me on his knee and rub my back?

But though the thought gave him a few seconds of respite, soon enough the horror of being pathetic and forlorn returned. He felt the awful sensation of his throat growing tight; the kind of tightness that's only relieved by yelling or a good cry. Sitting there, trapped in Snape's study, he either had to let the man berate him unfairly for not packing items he didn't possess, or reveal all about his wretched home life. He felt his breathing quicken and his palms grow moist, but then Snape continued speaking.

"You will therefore give up your free time on Saturday and go to Hogsmeade with Armitage-Brown, where you will purchase enough clothing to make yourself presentable - I include replacing the disreputable pyjamas you've been wearing. An appointment will be made for you with an oculist. Do not return without spare spectacles."

"But I don't have any money here, sir. Well, I have some - but not enough to buy all that."

"Slytherin House is not without funds and you, for my sins, are a Slytherin now."

And that's when Potter saw it, even through his crap lenses. He looked into those all-seeing eyes and just knew. Knew that Snape knew all about the awful Dursleys, the hand-me-down clothes, the glasses that had been bought without the aid of a prescription. Anyone else, thought Potter, would be sitting in that chair looking smugly charitable and condescending. But this was Severus Snape. He sat there, having negotiated the treacherous waters of Harry's shambolic home life, looking grim and anything but benign. And in that moment Potter had the - mercifully fleeting - sensation that he might possibly be in love with Snape. His ardour rose even higher as The Git's eyebrow arched at the same time as his lips puckered into an expression of sour distaste.

"If you are about to complain that you have an arrangement with a ridiculous Weasley or the ever-annoying Granger, I would strongly advise you not to."

But Potter wasn't about to do anything of the sort. He was grateful, happy, but most of all, relieved. Some people, he decided, waffled at length and smiled and crooned in all the right places - but didn't actually _do_ anything. Snape remained dourly tight-lipped and snarled and smacked but he did something - and he did it in such a way that Potter kept his dignity with no need to whimper over nasty Aunt Petunia or bullying Uncle Vernon. And then he thought some more - and realised that the last thing Snape would want was gratitude.

"I do have a chess game planned with Ron … but … yeah, if I have to, I suppose I can postpone it, sir."

"I suppose you can."

Snape stood and walked over to the window. Is that it? Do I leave now? Wondered Potter, surprising himself that he didn't actually want to. Yes, Snape had bundled him in to recite a mind-boggling list of rules, some of which, Potter was certain, weren't even real rules. But mid-way through, as the afternoon tea that the other Snakes were enjoying had come floating through on a tray, he found he didn't mind being in such close proximity to The Git. Ensconced on the plump-cushioned sofa and nibbling on crab salad sandwiches and scones, he'd nearly been able to ignore the grim content of Snape's words and just focus on the sound. Because, were you to hold a wand to his throat, even he would admit that Snape was the possessor of a beautiful voice - soft, yet strong and above all, mellifluent. Did he speak, or did he purr like a very relaxed tiger? Potter was shaken from his thoughts as Snape rapped on the glass and glowered at some frolicking Merpeople. They stopped whatever it was they'd been doing and he returned to his chair.

"Now, any questions?"

"No, sir … wait! … I mean yes, sir, I do."

"Then entertain me, Potter, with your list of gripes."

He could tell from the look on Snape's face that he was itching to call him a whining baby, and he very nearly kept quiet. But bugger that! How often did Snape allow people to question him?! It was now or never. His first question wasn't a question; it was an observation, but Snape got the gist.

"We have to stand up when you walk into the common room!"

"You do. Anyone that exercises their time and energy caring for you deserves respect, which is why you also defer to older students and prefects. And on that topic, you will devote at least an hour a day to interacting with students from the lower house."

"An hour?!"

"At least. Perhaps you'd like to begin with Delingpole? The child seems rather enamoured of you."

"But what do I do with him?"

"He's not a toddler, Potter. You don't have to wrack your brains trying to amuse him. He speaks, he reads, he flies a broom. Whatever you would normally do, you include him."

Potter thought back to his first night here and remembered the images of mixed-year board games, Crabbe trouncing a younger student in chess - then explaining his winning strategy, and even malevolent Malfoy doing a bit of Charms coaching. He'd been so opposed to all things Slytherin at the time that he'd rejected how refreshing he found the scene. So yeah, he could hang out with Archie no problem.

"Why do we have to do chores? It doesn't happen in Gryffindor, or any of the other houses."

Snape almost sneered. Almost. It would have been such a simple thing for him to fling a barb in Potter's direction - _Ah yes, the Hogwarts' champion and saviour of the wizarding world is far above doing chores; whatever was I thinking?_ \- but he didn't. He'd been impressed - and not a little surprised - that during his relentless relaying of the rules, Potter hadn't scoffed or sneered once. He'd struggled to keep up with all the rules but Severus had watched him thoughtfully mulling them over. When Potter listened, he was far removed from the arrogant little shit that never failed to remind Severus of his father. Then again, thought Severus, this is the first time I've had a proper conversation with the boy.

Snape was glad he'd bitten his tongue for once. Giving it some thought, he recognised Potter's question as an honest enquiry. An honest enquiry that he had a perfectly straightforward answer to, though he wouldn't be sharing it. Back in 1981, the Slytherins had been despicable. Still riding high on Death Eater excesses, they were haughty, cruel and with a surfeit of unmerited pride. It was small wonder they were despised throughout the school. Even Sybill Trelawney looked tempted to whip out her wand and hex them. And Minerva, for all she denied it now, would have been happy to have all the Slytherins expelled and the dungeons flooded - preferably with Snape still in them.

After suffering through his first year, he'd decided to bring his house down a peg or twenty. For his Snakes back then it had been the height of degradation to be expected to perform such menial tasks, especially without the aid of magic, like a common muggle. And Snape worked them _hard_. Dumbledore lapped it up; the Slytherins had tormented his teaching staff and his eyes twinkled with vicious delight at seeing them so cowed. Parents, who might have been expected to object, didn't. They gave precious little comfort to their children at home and were mostly in favour of a harsh regime at school.

Communal tasks demanded cooperation. The students clung to each other in their dislike of their new housemaster - and Severus didn't care a jot. He'd never been a popular student and as a member of the teaching staff he was reviled. He could bide his time; he was, as Dumbledore had made plain, there for the long haul. His prize was a multi-faceted jewel that Severus took pleasure in viewing from the hidden corner of the common room. The Snakes, who had previously lived the existence of bored and nasty dilettantes, knuckled down to complete the tasks set of them. And when a few attempted rebellion, the motivational qualities of Snape's gym shoe proved instantaneous.

But more than teaching humility, learning to complete a task unaided gave them a sense of accomplishment they'd never had before. The pride they felt wasn't the hollow pride of false superiority. At first, they whined together about their sad lot in life, and then they began to joke and make the others laugh. Snape was still hated, but his house was pulling together, so he continued not to care. As time went on, he dispensed with his more stringent rules, lessened the workload and introduced some fun activities. But the chores remained.

He realised the boy was waiting for an answer to his question.

"Hogwarts is a place of learning and not all learning is found in books, Potter. Everyone should learn to look after themselves."

"Yeah. I think you're right, sir."

Snape gave the reply a nod of approval and awaited the next question.

"Why do we have to be in bed by ten-thirty?"

"Do you toss and turn, unable to sleep?" Countered Snape.

"No."

"Then the fact that you sleep at ten-thirty means you need that sleep. Even if you are not tired, let me assure you that by ten-thirty, I am tired of you."

Harry supposed that was fair; Snape did spend a lot more time with his students than McGonagall. And actually, he'd never felt better rested in his life. He always seemed to be tumbling into bed at 2am back in Gryffindor, and with the Dursleys he was either doing housework until the small hours, or else stuck in his room for so long that listlessness denied him any decent sleep. He returned Snape's previous nod of approval; Snape said he was 'gratified to receive the Potter benediction'.

"Why are you so mental about manners and being polite? I mean, I know they're good things and all, but everyone slips up sometimes. You never let anyone get away with anything!"

"Tell me, what was your impression of Slytherin House before you joined us?"

"Erm …"

"Quite. And I'm sure Mr Malfoy wasn't the only one of whom you had a low opinion, but you weren't alone in those views, unfortunately. Let me tell you this, the more unpopular amongst us are always held to higher account. If a Hufflepuff forgets to say please or thank you, they are upset. A Ravenclaw is distracted by study; a Gryffindor is a little too intent on righting a wrong somewhere. But a Slytherin? No, a Slytherin is surly and thinks himself above the common courtesies. Such is the way of the world, Potter, and we must live with it."

Having spent time in Slytherin, he could see that. Professors' faces lit up when a Hufflepuff said thank you on receiving their marked assignment. When a Slytherin did the same, all they got was a curt nod. Snape wasn't just a crank with impossibly high standards; Slytherins had to be more polite simply to break even. He once again gave a thoughtful nod and accepted the answer.

"What's with all the 'uniform violations'?"

A uniform, Snape decreed, was something for which to be grateful. It was practical and it kept students warm; many children lived their lives in hand-me-downs and ill-fitting shoes. And, stressed Snape, a uniform required adhering to the very essence of the word; the second one spoilt child tinkered with it by wearing a shoe of the required colour but in a more fashionable style, then the whole idea was null and void.

"Uniforms are not fool proof, Potter. Poverty, or neglect, has an unfortunate way of making itself apparent, but they offer children the best protection there is against being mocked by their peers."

Potter agreed with every word he said.

He'd never admit it, but he was impressed with the Slytherin study regime. They got on with things in a timely fashion, had oodles of help on hand and enjoyed their free time without the shadow of an incomplete assignment hanging over them. He chose not to quiz Snape on that. Likewise he was beginning to enjoy the hour or so that Snape spent in the common room of an evening. At first, he'd thought it a violation; Snape snooping on them all - just waiting for any one of his seven million rules to be broken. But the man could actually be fun.

Only yesterday evening, on the way back to the common room Malfoy had been pulling at Snape's robes and mimicking Archie's pestering whine when Snape had used a sticking charm to glue him to the corridor ceiling. He'd then ushered all the students inside, pretending to forget Malfoy. Everyone huddled by the slightly ajar door laughing as they listened to him claiming not be bothered and then finally pleading to be released. Unfortunately for Potter, Malfoy took it in good humour. Once the Platinum Ponce was back in the common room, Snape plucked Pansy out of an armchair and demonstrated to all the boys how to twirl and dip a girl when waltzing - without dislocating the unfortunate female's shoulder. They'd all gone on to practise and he'd put himself in prime position to be paired up with Tracey - and savoured every nanosecond of it.

Of course, it wasn't all fun and games with The Git around. Overstep the mark, and he was quick to show his disapproval. But the Slytherins took the correction without drama. They apologised quickly and moved on, so Harry had done the same when Snape had given him a swipe for standing on a sofa with his shoes on. Still, he was curious why Snape came into their lair every night.

"You are all children. Some of you are older children, but you are children nonetheless. And children can be both foolish and cruel. I need to know what's happening; who is not speaking to whom; who is being teased; who is sad - and who looks as if they might go haring off on a ridiculous escapade any second."

The last comment, he noted, was for his benefit.

"It is my job to keep you all safe; a head of house acts in loco parentis."

Snape acting like everyone's dad? Bloody hell … If he'd heard that three weeks ago, he'd have felt sorry even for Malfoy. But now it made him feel kind of safe, and then a bit mournful.

"Why are you always horrible to me? I mean, you've been alright since I've been here, but before you were awful! Why did you dislike me from the very first moment?"

"To save time, Potter." Snape rolled his eyes and sighed, "Since your first day here you have flouted rules, made a habit of handing in sub-standard work, shown appalling insolence and all whilst demonstrating an infuriating arrogance that refuses to permit others may know better. You, young man, should be grateful not to have been in Slytherin all that time; one of my Snakes would have got a lot more than a few measly detentions."

"But Hermione's not like that and you were just mean about her teeth."

"Good grief Potter! Do you have any idea how dangerous my classroom is? I cannot keep twenty over-active children at a time safe _and_ patrol the corridors for students having squabbles. Miss Granger is a highly capable young witch; instead of wailing, she should have taken herself off to Madam Pomfrey immediately. She heard which hex had been thrown; the matter could have been resolved with a minimum of fuss."

"But … but …"

"Potter, I'm doing my utmost but I am not a monument to 'niceness'."

"Yeah well, I know you get cross with the other Slytherins but you never speak to them like you did to me!"

"You know perfectly well what happens in Slytherin if you are rude, dishonest or disobedient."

"That's another thing, why do you whack us? Professor McGonagall doesn't."

"I am in charge of Slytherin and I choose the methods I think best. Professor McGonagall happens to prefer detentions; I don't. For some children, detention and exclusion from pleasurable activities forces them to think about their behaviour; for others, it only adds to their isolation and allows them to brood. I prefer a deterrent that is quick and memorable and, might I add, if anyone takes exception to being 'whacked' as you put it, they could always try behaving themselves. A novel idea for most students, but I live in hope."

Harry wondered if Snape was able to keep up the snarkiness even while he slept - probably. Then he thought about the answer he'd given. Getting slippered hurt but it was quick; he'd give him that. And, yes, it was memorable - too bloody memorable. But was it worse than having detention for hours on end so you had to stay up until 3am to do your work? To be perfectly honest, he didn't think so.

"Any more grousing?"

Harry was enjoying the conversation but he couldn't come up with any more gripes.

"No. I'm good for tonight - but if I think of something, can I come back?"

"Possibly."

He knew The Git meant 'yes'.

 **oOo**

He almost jumped backwards when he came through the common room door and saw five sets of eyes trained intently on him.

"Have a seat!" Called Zabini.

"Alright," Said a confused Potter, "I will."

And with that, he flopped down heavily down onto the sofa.

"Bollocks!" Said Zabini.

"Ha!" Cried Nott, Millicent and Crabbe.

"Hand them over." Demanded Malfoy.

Zabini stuck his hand under his school jumper, pulled something from his shirt pocket and handed it furtively to Malfoy.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Blaise old boy!" Said Malfoy.

"Oh, Tracey!" Sang out Nott, "Remember those Ravenclaws that were mean to you this afternoon? Now might be the time to go and cry on Snape's shoulder about it."

"Oh, bloody hell! Do I have to? This'll be the third time in a week; Snape's going to pack me off to the nut ward in St Mungo's at this rate."

"Rules are rules, Trace." Reminded Millicent, "You chickened out of 'Hex or Dare', so you're our slave for two weeks."

"Yeah, yeah." Said Tracey, "You do know you're all going to get caught at some point, don't you? And I'll end up copping it too."

"Not with me in charge." Crowed Malfoy, "I'm too fiendishly clever!"

Behind their fearless leader's back, Millicent, Crabbe and Nott gave each other stricken looks. Malfoy turned around too quickly,

"Don't listen to her! The plan's fool proof!"

Despite not having a huge amount of faith in Malfoy's cunning, the trio followed him out of the common room. Tracey rubbed furiously at her eyes making them red and then set off for Snape's study, and Potter smiled at it all, having finally worked out what was going on.

"You bet on me getting whacked!"

"Yep." Admitted Zabini, "How did I lose that one?!"

"I have no idea." Answered Potter.

And it was true. Snape was a mystery. Potter couldn't understand what the hell he was doing here. Yeah, Hogwarts was great, but he didn't still want to be here when he was in his thirties. Snape could go anywhere. Why stay here when he could be somewhere cool like Patagonia or Borneo finding rare potions ingredients that would make him a packet? Come to think of it, why did he care so much about his Slytherins? They'd still have to pay him even if the Snakes were all miserable bastards that hexed people for breathing too loud.

Those things he didn't understand, but that was okay because he was beginning to figure out some of the smaller stuff. Snape's rules all made sense; they were a pain in the arse at times, but they made sense. It was good to look smart. Maybe if you'd grown up always having new clothes foisted on you, you didn't appreciate the benefit. But if you'd ever had to swelter through a summer's day in a woollen sweater because it was the only thing that fitted you, you came round to Snape's point of view pretty quickly. The chores weren't a problem for him - Snape should bring in Uncle Vernon if he really wanted the Snakes to learn self-sufficiency. All the same, it was good to hear there was a reason behind them, and they weren't just doing them because it was all they were good for. He still didn't like the curbs on his wandering, but that didn't mean he didn't see Snape's logic. Even the baloney The Git had spouted, like walking down the corridor that housed his potions being a slipper-worthy offence, kind of made sense. Who wanted the likes of Malfoy in a snit and able to get his mits on deadly ingredients? In any case, Potter knew Snape was talking bollocks about some of the rules. Everyone walked down that corridor; it was the quickest way to the library.

Snape was never going to lose the snark; it was written through him like a stick of rock. He'd never sit at top table and smile fondly upon his Snakes, but that didn't mean he was disapproving - well, not all the time. And you'd never know what mood he was in when he came storming through the common room doors; he'd probably always go from furious to curiously relaxed in a heartbeat. But the Slytherins coped with it all - and he reckoned he could, too.

 **A/N 3:** I hope the chapter didn't disappoint all the 'Harry lovers' out there. I think he's a great character too, but I in my head I see him as a strong survivor, and not someone that would end up snuggling Snape and whimpering. (I also never see him entering Slytherin House, so bang goes my logic!)


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N 1:** Thanks go out to the following:

 **Hamlet** \- we're very much on the same page with Snape. Actually, reading your comments, I suspect you are a bit of a Snape! (a compliment, in my book)

 **Guest** who thought Harry and Snape were in character - thanks!

 **Guest** who gave me bonus points for spelling and grammar - are you my old English teacher Mr Stickland, by any chance? Of course not! (He'd always find something to mark me down on.)

 **A/N 2:** I'm venturing further into the realms of AU with the Malfoys in this chapter.

 **Chapter 14: Watching and Listening**

 **25** **th** **November 1994**

Against all odds, Potter survived the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. He couldn't believe he'd beaten Cedric to tie for first place with Viktor Krum, and part of him winced when the result was announced. But he wasn't booed, he was cheered. And his old house was cheering the loudest, though a few of the Slytherins forgot their antipathy towards Hogwarts and threw themselves wholeheartedly into supporting him - led by his number one fan, Archie Delingpole.

Back in the good books with the Lion House and level-pegging with Viktor; things were looking up. The only downside had been Rita Skeeter's articles and Potter laid the blame for them squarely at sulky Pansy Parkinson - she hadn't fared well with the Whomping Willow. Still, he enjoyed a bit of payback when Snape uncovered her plan to sneak off to Hogsmeade on a shoe-buying trip and made her sit facing the corner of the common room all evening.

In fact, the Golden Boy was still feeling a little dazed by events when he ambled into uniform inspection the following day.

"Despite launching himself headfirst into near-certain disaster, Mr Potter has somehow managed to survive intact. And wary though I am of pandering to such attention-seeking, I suppose a round of applause for his pointless derring-do may be appropriate."

Snape gave a few limp claps, but the Snakes drowned those out with riotous applause. Nott elbowed Harry, "You've won him over, Potter; I've never seen him so warm and cuddly!"

All the bonhomie was too much for Snape. He shuddered and looked slightly nauseous before demanding silence and walking the ranks, honing in on Harry's uniform despite there being no discernible difference from prior inspections.

"Shoes could do with a polish, Potter."

Potter looked down to see his glasses reflected in the black lace ups.

"Is that a stain on your tie?"

Nope, thought Potter, but keep trying. He did, this time sniffing and wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Is there a slight mustiness to your robes?"

Six out of ten, thought Potter; gotta try harder than that. He looked at the man's sour face just inches from his own; The Git was pleased alright. No 'well done', no 'quick thinking in summoning your broom', just some near-silent claps, a long face and phoney grumbles about his uniform. But, to be honest, the tepid praise and lightly mocking tone were far more to his understated tastes than Dumbledore's public announcements, which Harry had always found cringing.

 **oOo**

The walk to breakfast was dominated by an upbeat Malfoy's statistical analysis of the odds of mutilation, brain damage or worse in the upcoming two tasks.

"Face it, Potter; the figures don't lie. You're looking at an eighty-six per cent chance of rupture to a major organ, loss of at least one eye and paralysis!"

"Stop it, Draco. That's gruesome!" Said Pansy, who rushed over to link arms and nuzzle into Harry. "But if you do peg it, Potter, could I use your cloak? Snape will never be able to stop me getting decent shoes if I have that."

He was staggered at the nerve of the girl, but just about to let her have a mouthful, his attention was taken by another group ahead of him.

"Here's our boy!"

"Yes! The Gryffindor champ cometh!"

Everyone looked to see Ron, Seamus and Dean flanking the door to the main hall. Potter lurched forward ready to run and greet them, then something stopped him. What if he'd come last? Would they still be waiting for him, ready to commiserate? Ron - _maybe_. Seamus and Dean? He didn't think so.

"C'mon! Get over here; we've been waiting for you!" Called Seamus.

"Get stuffed" muttered Potter.

As soon as he'd said it, a dark head swooped down to his ear.

"Be the bigger man." Whispered Armitage-Brown, "Do it for her," he said, looking over to Hermione, "and him." looking to Cedric.

Urquhart and Latimer siphoned the Slytherins through another doorway and let Potter spend some time alone with his old housemates and well-wishers. But one Snake decided not to go to breakfast that morning.

 **oOo**

Draco Malfoy was furious with himself; he should have expected this the second Potter was announced equal first place winner. Of course the Gryffindors would be all over him, and, of course, Potter would go scuttling back to them like a whipped dog, forgetting how they'd treated him with suspicion and disdain. You're pathetic, Potter. But the sneering failed to dislodge what he was really thinking.

He had a hard time admitting it to himself but he'd enjoyed having Potter in his house. Nott and Zabini were good people, solid types and fun to be around. But he was the third wheel in that friendship, and he knew it. Who did he have? Crabbe and Goyle. Was it a genuine friendship? Or had they been thrown together simply because the three had appalling fathers? It was hard to say. He knew he used them; he recognised that hollow feeling whenever he tricked them into supporting one of his mean-spirited attacks. But more than feeling shabby towards Crabbe and Goyle was the rising panic that he'd revealed too much to Potter. How could he have been so stupid?! Telling Potter about his father and the other Death Eaters? How un-Slytherin could you get? How un-Malfoy could you get - and what the hell was his father going to say? What was he, a frigging Hufflepuff? Was Potter sharing that with Weasley right now?

He forced himself to glance around the door and felt some relief when he saw Finnegan and Lavender Brown making a huge fuss - a fuss that appeared to leave Potter squirming. To his right, Weasley had lost his smile of earlier. Was that annoyance Draco could see creeping onto his face? Granger stood in the background looking supremely unimpressed with all the gushing that was happening. He took a few steps back to survey the scene and leapt in the air as he brushed against something.

"Dear boy!" Igor Karkaroff's smile showed Draco the unpleasant yellow tinge to his oddly pointed teeth. "Not taking breakfast today? And neither is your housemaster, I see. Nor is he in the dungeons …"

Karkaroff had picked the wrong morning to display his unctuous wheedling. Malfoy had endured a lifetime of scary wizards visiting the Manor, both the falsely ingratiating and the openly scary. It had destroyed any sense of home for Draco; the air was poisoned by their presence. His mother made some stabs at normality - 'spontaneous' trips to Fortescue's for an ice-cream, or picnics in the grounds. But Draco began to recognise these as ploys to avoid Lucius' worst moods, or an especially terrifying visitor. It was in the dungeons with Severus Snape that Malfoy found sanctuary and security. He was livid at the thought of Karkaroff prowling there; the one place he felt safe - and he didn't give a toss about Snape's rules on not lying.

"No he isn't, sir. He left an hour ago to harvest acromantula eggs from the forest. Some new potion he's working on."

"Ah! Then I must concentrate my search there."

The Durmstrang headmaster gifted Malfoy a gruesome smile that failed to hide his annoyance and disappeared.

Snape leant against the alcove wall and smiled. Nicely done, Draco. Now don't disappoint me and give up on Potter. The housemaster had seen a pleasing change in Malfoy over recent weeks. His unhappiness that so often manifested itself in spite had lessened. He and Pansy didn't cling together so much and bring out the worst in each other. The boy had hidden reserves - too well hidden at times. Could it be that having Potter in Slytherin had forced Malfoy to address matters? Could Severus' plan work out after all?

He had to get into the hall; he wanted to see for himself how Potter reacted to all the Gryffindors who had suddenly rediscovered their loyalty. He gave a rub to his forearm, moved out of the shadows and pushed Malfoy ahead of him through the great wooden doors.

 **oOo**

It wasn't a week of triumphal victory; it was a week of watching. Finnegan and Thomas watched Weasley to see if their moment in the sun had ended. If Potter were embraced back into the fold, they knew they'd be out. Weasley watched the reactions of everyone and honed in on Harry especially. Was his friend preening and enjoying things too much? Weasley felt he'd come into his own over the last few weeks. He was sick of playing second fiddle, he decided. Hardly got a look-in at home and, of course, it was just his rotten luck that he'd chummed up with the most famous boy wizard on the planet.

Still, chummed up he had. And Harry was more than a chum, he was a bloody good mate, the finest there was. It was just … well, it had been nice to be noticed. But how long was that going to last? Hermione watched Ron; when was he going to bloody grow up? Malfoy watched Potter and the Gryffindors. Was it back to Crabbe and Goyle for him? Would he have to rely on Pansy for some intelligent, albeit mean, fun? Crabbe watched Malfoy. He'd enjoyed the last few weeks of not having to prop him up. He much preferred playing chess and mucking around with Greg than being at Malfoy's beck and call.

And Snape watched all the watching. Watched who was looking over at whom at mealtimes. Watched who sat next to whom in his classes. Interspersed with all his watching, Rita Skeeter's articles seemed to amuse him no end. He took to livening up the quieter moments of potions classes by reading aloud the scurrilous accounts, and then watching the reactions of the Gryffindors and his Snakes. He learnt a lot from that.

 **Thursday after class.**

Something about Granger's determined face caused Draco to follow her at the end of Arithmancy. He was right to do so, he realised, as she leant on the balustrade, scanned the milling students below and made straight for Potter, pulling him to a disused classroom on the second floor. He'd had to follow from a discrete distance, but then he was good at that sort of thing - following, lurking and listening in were his specialities.

To many the conversation he snooped on would have appeared mundane, if not tedious. But something about it provoked a yearning in Draco. Yes, Granger was almost scolding Potter, but it was the scolding of a good friend that cared about him. Vince and Greg cared about him too, but mostly it was like being cared for by two pet Rottweilers - not the meeting of minds that Potter and Granger enjoyed.

"Are you still doing chores in Slytherin?"

This question followed on from thirteen others, and Malfoy could hear the weariness in Potter's voice.

"Yes."

"Good. Have you sold any S.P.E.W. badges?"

"Yeah Hermione. Snape bought one."

"That's brilliant! Well done you! Really?!"

"No."

Hermione huffed quietly and then resumed her grilling.

"Has Ron been speaking to you?"

"Yeah … well, a bit."

"What's Malfoy been like?"

"Okay."

"And the other Slytherins?"

"They're fine."

"How's Snape been?"

"He's been okay too."

"Has he been making you do your homework?"

"Religiously."

"Has he taught you new stuff?"

"Yep."

"Has he kept the bedtimes?"

"Yes."

"Has he kept uniform inspections?"

"Yes."

"Has he beaten you?"

"Ye … what?!"

"That was a 'yes'. Oh, don't look so surprised. I worked it out; it was obvious."

"Not to me, it wasn't!"

Draco smirked as he thought back to the afternoon outside Snape's study when he'd had the joy of revealing Snape's more traditional measures to Potter.

"Really Harry? Snape never takes points from Slytherin. He hardly ever gives his house detention; you told me that. Yet they always come to class with homework done - and done well. They're polite to professors, always immaculate. He must do something. And it's not hard to imagine him beating his students."

Granger was a clever girl alright, thought Draco, but a slippering wasn't what he'd call a beating. Though he had to admit, he did like the sound of it. It lent an air of dignified robustness to proceedings. Apparently, Potter didn't agree.

"You make it sound awful; it wasn't that bad."

"What did he use?"

"Slipper, actually an old gym shoe."

"Ouch! Still, I suppose you learnt your lesson."

"Bloody hell, Hermione! You don't sound very upset! I thought you'd go mental; that's why I didn't tell you."

"When I figured it out, I was a bit shocked but not outraged. I suppose you got slippered for mucking about?"

"Sort of."

Malfoy wondered if Potter was going to tell her he'd copped it for getting her Ancient Runes book. He would have.

"Well then." Hermione said. She paused, thought and continued, "Look do you know what it's like to want to work hard and constantly be interrupted by people who just fool around? Or to be a social misfit because you find schoolwork more interesting than nail polish and mascara? Actually, I wish Snape didn't just limit his slipper to the Slytherins; I can think of plenty I'd like to get a taste of it. And I've been thinking; is a short, sharp shock worse than exiling a student from their house? Or giving them detention in a dangerous forest? I mean, this is the wizarding world, Harry. They throw people in Azkaban and suck their souls from them. A slippering isn't much compared to that. But if you didn't deserve it, I will be outraged."

"No, I did."

An unplanned urge ambushed Draco, and he saw himself, not skulking outside in secret, but sitting on the other side of the door with Potter and Granger. But he wouldn't dare go in; Potter would think he'd gone nuts and Granger would leave in disgust.

"Did you drag me all the way up here just to tell me you approve of Snape walloping me?!"

"Of course not." Said Hermione. "Well, not just that. Remember that Friday night in the Great Hall when Archie nearly knocked into us?"

"Yeah."

"I remembered what it was I wanted to tell you. It was in an old _Quibbler_ that Luna once lent me. Remember that article I showed you; the one where Xenophilius questioned that Voldemort was really dead?"

Draco sat a lot straighter at the mention of that name. Potter told her he did remember, though he'd forgotten the details.

"I told you the Delingpoles were ancient purebloods, hmm? Well, ancient families possess ancient artefacts, and the Delingpoles are no exception. Listen to this, Harry; this is where it gets interesting."

Hermione revealed that the Delingpoles were the possessors of something known as The Mirror of Merlin, a millennium old mirror reputed to have been crafted by the great wizard himself.

"Get this Harry, the mirror can reveal the intentions, past and present, of those placed before it. Occlumency is no shield. Imagine that? It's horrific! Here's the sad bit - and don't breathe a word of this to anyone - Voldemort was desperate for it in the last war. Apparently, he never trusted any of his followers. Remember you told me that Archie's brothers died? They didn't just die; they joined Voldemort despite their parents begging them not to. They'd been recruited in their fifth year, so Xenophilius thinks. Anyway, Voldemort demanded they steal the mirror from their parents, but they couldn't manage it. Archie's parents had it hidden. Xenophilius is certain they were murdered after the war by the surviving Death Eaters. They didn't believe that Christopher and Hugh Delingpole didn't have the mirror."

So that's what Snape was doing the week he was away, thought Malfoy; he was trying to get his hands on that mirror. Malfoy closed his eyes as he dealt with the thousand questions that had stormed his brain. He sat perfectly still with his right index finger raised - _just one_. Snape had taught him that. Whenever his father's demands and disappointment were overwhelming him, he worked his way through one issue at a time.

One. Did Snape want the mirror for himself? Could be. At one point the Snake House had been alive with rumours of what he did as a Death Eater. If the mirror fell into the wrong hands at the Ministry, Snape would be finished. One. Why was Snape away for the best part of a week? Didn't the Delingpoles trust him? No, that couldn't be it; they'd entrusted their beloved and spoilt son to Snape. Was there some other problem? Did they even have the mirror any more? One. Why hadn't they handed it over to Hugh and Christopher? They babied Archie to a ridiculous extent; surely they'd also have cosseted the twins? But maybe not. He recalled being younger and hearing Dobby, Nanky and the other elves talking in hushed tones of families torn apart by 'sides'. He hadn't known what 'sides' were at the time. Was going over to Voldemort's side a price even the stupidly indulgent Delingpoles were unwilling to pay for their sons? He looked through the crack in the door and saw Potter staring at Granger. It seemed an age until she broke the silence.

"You know how Luna's dad is convinced that Voldemort is coming back soon? Well, he thinks that those still supporting Voldemort will try to get the mirror back. He thinks they could try to kidnap Archie and force the Delingpoles to hand it over; they wouldn't lose another son, no matter how noble they are."

"Why is Archie here then?" Asked Harry, "Why don't they take him and hide in Europe, or some place else?"

"Think about it, Harry. Hogwarts has the strongest protections of the wizarding world, _and_ Albus Dumbledore. This is the safest place for him. I'm surprised Dumbledore let him go into Slytherin though; I'm sorry, but I am. It's not the students; it's the families."

Malfoy loved his house, but he had to admit the mudblood made a fair point.

"Hang on." Said Potter, "Why would Voldemort's followers be so desperate to get that mirror? I mean, plenty of them disowned him after he was killed. If he does come back and he's as paranoid as everyone makes out, then they'd be the last people to want it found."

"That's what I've been puzzling over too. But suppose this; suppose you were the one that found it and gave it to Voldemort, wouldn't that place you above suspicion?" Hermione sounded sceptical of her own thought processes. "Or maybe Voldemort would grant an amnesty to the finder? They might move higher up in his ranks? I'm not saying he'd be grateful, but he must be cunning and a bit pragmatic; we have to give him that."

Oh, you fucking Gryffindors! Don't you know anything?! The smart girl was slipping in Malfoy's estimation. He wanted to scream; EVERYONE is terrified because NO ONE trusts ANYONE else. Memories of tense dinner parties at Malfoy Manor flooded his mind- the false smiles and nasty digs, the smarm and terrifying politeness that never quite managed to mask the fearful, hate-filled eyes. Draco Malfoy held a very deep contempt for his upbringing.

"Or maybe," Said Harry, "there were followers that stayed true to him? Ones that didn't wimp out and claim the Imperius. But wouldn't they all be in Azkaban?"

That's better, Potter. Thought Malfoy, before panic seized him.

 **oOo**

'Imperius'. The word froze Malfoy to the dusty floor of the corridor. As disappointing as his father was, some part of him loved Lucius. No one at home had spoken openly about Voldemort; it was a topic that was neatly avoided, but a curious little sneak like Draco Malfoy can always glean information. He knew his father had been involved - along with the nameless, faceless others that visited the Manor late at night. He knew some, like his terrifying Aunt Bellatrix, had defiantly entered Azkaban, still foaming at the mouth and proclaiming loyalty to the Dark Lord. He'd learned that when the Imperius curse, cast on so many in the wizarding world, was lifted, many duplicitous chancers - his father chief amongst them - had seized this opportunity to declare themselves victims of the Dark Lord, feigning disbelief that they could ever have perpetrated such abhorrent crimes.

Still others - the more confident, the born-to-rule and people astute enough to know how the world really works - bided their time and simply continued with their lives. They knew that the appetite for vengeance was fiery, yet short-lived and could be out-foxed by slipping into the shadows. Not for the first time, Draco cursed his father's all-consuming efforts to save his own skin without giving the matter proper thought.

If the Dark Lord ever did come back and place Lucius in front of this Mirror of Merlin, he would be shown for what he truly was - a pretender, a coward and an opportunist. He was an insecure social climber with a liking for the finer things and a compulsion to be revered. The Malfoy line went nowhere near as far back as was claimed - Lucius' father having paid a hefty bribe to Cantankerus Nott for inclusion in _The Pure-Blood Directory_. Malfoy Manor - picked up for a song three generations ago from a dissolute marquis - was littered with so-called heirlooms; mostly found by Lucius while holidaying on the continent. Even the signet ring he wore did not bear his mark. Instead, if one looked closely, it had a bee encircled with the letter 'Q'; nothing to do with the Malfoys - and snapped up by Lucius for fifty thousand lire in a Venetian flea market.

Walburga Black had sized him up immediately, and most probably Narcissa had too. But his love for her was genuine, and she forgave him his foible of craving nobility. Narcissa knew pureblood nobility for what it was - entitled, unpleasant people who happened to have the great good fortune of having had ruthless ancestors. And even the vicious, old trout Aunt Walburga could set aside her prejudices for the sake of a little pragmatism. Lucius was, she decreed, useful - "A bit of rough in the ranks will reinvigorate the bloodlines," she'd sneered as Lucius stood shamefaced on the carpet.

Should Voldemort reappear, what would happen? Would he kill or merely torture his father for his lack of loyalty? Both prospects made Draco sick to his stomach. Or would Lucius Malfoy be exposed as a common, self-serving conniver? Draco had no stomach for that either. Keep Archie Delingpole safe; that was key, Draco realized. To do that he needed to get close to Potter and Granger. Tactics, he told himself, but there was another yearning there.


	15. Chapter 15

Thanks to Hamlet; I'm glad you're warming to Malfoy!

Thanks to guest 'X'!

Thanks to guest who likes Lucius as a 'bit of rough'!

Thanks to another guest who was a bit disappointed with so much Draco, but who kept reading anyway. Much appreciated!

 **A/N 1:** This chapter is in two parts. I'll post the next soon.

 **A/N 2:** Millicent's book club are reading ' _The Silver Sword_ ' by Ian Serraillier (a great book that inspired ' _The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas_ ').

 **A/N 3:** The title's a clue; Harry's feeling pretty sorry for himself here. Bear with him!

 **I'm Sick** _ **and**_ **Everyone Hates Me - Part 1**

 **Friday 27th November**

Potter felt dreadful. He lay in bed and did an inventory of his body parts: throat - sore, eyes - itchy, shoulders - achy, arms - like lead, ears - blocked. Dragging himself to the bathroom mirror, he looked in disappointment at his normal reflection - no purple and green spots, no rash of any description, nothing to tell the outside world he felt wretched. And that meant he'd either have to suck it up and carry on, or go boo-hooing to Snape over feeling unwell. He'd never do that; he hated feeling pathetic. That settled it; he'd soldier on. But he did feel awful.

The warm shower helped a little, but when Draco bumped into him on purpose and made a crack about his hair, he almost punched him. He didn't know why. It had become their normal routine to start the day with a bit of banter and Potter had grown to enjoy it. Malfoy had a quick wit and he liked having to think fast to keep up with him. But not today.

Following breakfast another annoyance reared its head. Snape's effing chores. It was a free period; if Snape wasn't so mental about cleaning, he could have snoozed, or taken another hot shower. He looked up at the tall bookcase with its heavy leather-bound tomes and the thought of pulling them down, dusting them and wiping the shelves made his already sore arms ten times sorer. Fortunately he'd been paired with Gregory Goyle, who had his own reason for not wanting the chore.

"I'm gonna get muddled up and put the books back in the wrong order. Then Snape'll make me do a ton of reading work with him." He groaned. "Can you help me out, Potter?"

They made a good pair; Goyle doing the donkey work and Potter dusting and supervising the books' re-placement. Being with Goyle wasn't so bad. He was big, lumbering and slow. He didn't speak much and when he did, his voice was deep and mellow. After half an hour, Snape prowled the common room excited someone might have forgotten a chore and he'd be able to punish them horribly for it, or so Potter imagined in his fever-induced grumpiness. But the shelves passed muster and Goyle even received a pat on the back for his alphabetizing. No sooner had Potter given his partner a cheeky wink than he felt strong, bony fingers grab his chin.

"You've been rubbing your eyes; why is that?" Demanded Snape.

"It's the dust." Lied Potter.

"Should have used a damp cloth." Chided Snape.

"Should have told me." Potter spat back.

Goyle's look told him he'd overstepped the mark.

"You … erm … you should have told me 'cos I value your advice, sir."

"In that case, here's another piece of advice; keep a civil tongue in your head or you'll spend your entire weekend dusting every book in the school."

 **oOo**

The trouble started when Hermione spotted him massaging his stiff neck and rubbing at his itchy eyes in the corridor between classes. He loved Hermione, but she couldn't half go on about things and he was determined to shoulder on through his illness until he felt better. The last thing he wanted was her sticking her beak in.

"Leave it Hermione; I'm fine. Just because I'm not grinning like a lunatic doesn't mean there's something wrong with me!"

"Hello, hello, hello! What's all this muttering from you two?!" Asked a grinning Zabini, "I think you're up to something!"

Malfoy's head popped up over Zabini's shoulder.

"I'll tell you what's going on; Potter's telling the Gryffindorks the Slytherin password!"

It was too much for Potter. He felt as sick as a dog. Hermione was hassling him. Draco had proved that the Slytherins hadn't forgotten his blabbing to Ron, and to top it all off, Seamus sidled up out of nowhere and hissed, "Didn't take your new housemates long to get your measure!" He felt just like he had when he'd been standing before the hourglasses …

 **oOo**

Hermione caught up to him in the space where the staffroom used to be before it magically migrated. It had become a bit of a hang-out for students now - benches dragged in and an unauthorised notice board offering assignment writing for payment-in-kind.

"I think they were joking but, anyway, don't take them seriously. It's hard for them seeing you in another house. It's hard for all of us."

"Sodding hell, Hermione!"

"What's wrong?!"

"Hard for everyone else to see me booted out of my own house! I can't believe you just said that!"

"I didn't mean it like that! Of course, it's much harder for you. I'm just saying that it's not easy for others either. Anyway, come on; I've got herbology and you've got astronomy."

"I'm not going. Stuff Sinistra. You know, Ron and frigging Seamus and Dean should try being stuck on their own somewhere and having to start all over again. And bloody Malfoy too; he should try making a fresh start - and then have Ron dragging all the gory details out of him. Yeah, let's see how wimpy bloody Ferret Boy would cope being stuck in another house; I'd like to see how long he kept his mouth shut then. Probably be bawling his eyes out after ten minutes, the prat!"

Harry looked up to see the Slytherin staring at him. The next moment he was gone. Hermione cast another worried glance Harry's way and left too.

For about five minutes he just stood there and felt achy, tired and utterly defeated. Next, a wave of anger came upon him and he kicked at the benches, toppling two of them. The notice board came down - just because it felt good. And then Harry saw a poster for the Yule Ball and he thought his head was about to explode. Some berk with no idea about school life whatsoever had decided to advertise the ball with a drawing of inter-house conviviality - a Ravenclaw hugging a Hufflepuff and a Gryffindor and a Slytherin high-fiving each other. Yeah right! That poster was going! Jumping up on an overturned bench, he reached up to yank it down.

" _Mister_ Potter!"

Could the day get any worse?

"Explain yourself." Demanded Snape.

"Why just pick on me?! Why turn up when I'm on my own?! What about the others?!"

"I don't see any others; I only see you and evidence of your vandalism. What exactly is it you're trying to achieve here?"

"Nothing."

"I have a class, Mr Potter, as do you. I do not have the time to drag details from a taciturn adolescent. Tell me quickly what's happening here."

"Nothing."

"Who are these 'others' and what have they done?"

What have they done? They do nothing; that's the frigging point! All the shit happens to me and they sit back making smart comments, criticizing every bloody move I make. And then sodding Malfoy hears me say something a bit mean and runs to get you, you bleeding idiot!

"No one. No one's done anything, sir."

"Very well. Apart from meals, you're confined to Slytherin House for the weekend. Now replace those benches and get to class. Do _not_ forget to apologise to Professor Sinistra."

 **oOo**

Actually, being grounded for the weekend suited Potter just fine. His throat was hurting more and his head was pounding. He hardly bothered with the common room, spent most of the time in or on his bed. Archie came in at one point desperately sorry that Snape had sent him to his dorm for _the whole weekend_. Potter should have corrected the misunderstanding, but instead he wallowed in Archie's sympathy. His life was crap, he reasoned; he could occasionally enjoy some kindness and not feel bad about it.

"I wanted to bring you my little snitch to play with, but Professor Snape confiscated it. Sorry."

"That's okay; I appreciate the thought."

He didn't bother asking what Archie had done to lose the snitch. The Git probably caught him doing something despicably un-Slytherin, like speaking nicely to a Hogwarts' elf, or holding open a door for a Hufflepuff. Next, Archie filled him in on Slytherin's big news; Arno Van Den Berg and Harriett Walsh had sneaked off to Hogsmeade, and then been promptly caught by Snape on the way back. Poor sods were in his study now. Several people had put in an order for Honeydukes with the adventurous pair and were at that moment sitting nervously in the common room, waiting to see if they'd be ratted out. Potter just hoped that Malfoy was one of them.

It was the weekend and, with the exception of himself - and presumably Arno and Harriet now - everyone else was out and about and when he wasn't snoozing, he lay and brooded. Fact: Malfoy had gone running to Snape and told him he was skipping astronomy. How else would Snape have known so quickly? Fact: Malfoy was a shit. Fact: he would never fit in here. Fact: he'd never be welcomed back to Gryffindor either. Fact: he was too tired and sick to think anymore. Bugger the lot of them.

He pulled the eiderdown up over his head and tried to think happy thoughts - those first visits to Hagrid's hut with Ron and Hermione, the sheer joy of escaping Little Whinging to catch the Hogwarts Express, getting proper Christmas presents for the first time. They were lovely memories to smother himself in. But, annoyingly, some others were trying to gatecrash. Snape getting fed up of Archie and his Exploding Snap mania - and teaching them how to play Gobstones instead. Then revealing his mother had been a champion Gobstones player. Harry was sure that was the only snippet of personal information he'd heard from Snape. At the time, he recalled Cormac McLaggen sitting up in the Gryffindor common room mouthing off about how only the very worst kinds of witches and wizards played Gobstones - the pathetic oiks that couldn't afford a broom. It made Harry warm a little to Snape.

Or Millicent daring him to tell Licorus Black the only upstanding Black family member was Sirius. The portrait had self-combusted - apparently something he did when sufficiently enraged. Millicent had neglected to tell him _that_. The dungeon corridors had been flooded with acrid smoke and the pair of them had had to hide for the best part of the day until Snape's rage had subsided. When he finally caught up with them, his rage hadn't entirely disappeared. Still, he and Millicent got through the encounter - mostly in tact.

Or those two times that Draco had spoken of the Death Eater parents and his own father. The Platinum One's usual speech had been stripped of all its hubris and arrogance, leaving only raw honesty. They hadn't been happy moments; in fact, they'd been shocking. The more Harry dwelt on those memories, the more he realised you can't hate people you understand. He gave an angry kick to the blankets; he didn't want that thought in his head. He wanted the simple security of being the good one and the others all being loathsome, hateful bastards.

Time ticked by, hours or minutes, he could no longer tell. Had he fallen asleep; was he waking up, drifting off? He didn't know. At one point, he thought he heard some whimpering. Bloody hell, is that me?! Am I crying in my sleep now? He inched down the blankets and slowly swivelled his sore neck to scan the room, but he only saw Nott fiddling with some papers and stowing them in his bedside cabinet.

 **oOo**

He woke to the uncomfortable prickliness of the blanket on his face and neck, the sheet having twisted around his legs. Sleep caked his eyelashes and kept his lids from opening but a second before rubbing it away he felt hot breath on his face. He didn't need to open his eyes to know he was being scrutinized.

"He's sleeping again, Malfoy. What do we do?"

Goyle. Was Malfoy going to direct the big oaf to play a prank on him? Shave his hair off while he slept? Spell a boil onto the end of his nose? No. Too lame for Malfoy. He'd rifle through his satchel, find his potions work and alter it so Snape had a fit when Harry handed it in. Right. The second those huge hands went anywhere near his work, he was grabbing his wand and blasting that big gorilla to the other side of the dorm.

"Leave him alone. Don't wake him."

Malfoy. Yeah, he would say that. If they're stuck with me in their house, this is the ideal solution - asleep, or sick and bed-ridden. Potter's descent into self-indulgent moroseness continued until he reached the conclusion he was too unimportant in the lives of anyone to have a prank played on him. Finally, he fell asleep.

 **oOo**

The effort of walking back to the dungeons after supper drained Harry and he could easily have gone to bed, but he took a seat in the common room anyway. He'd spent so much time in the dorm he worried about getting bed sores. He chose to sit down next to Jemima Deacon. She was obsessed with all the boys in her year and he knew she wouldn't quiz him too much on why he was being quiet. As Jemima flirted with the older boys, Potter focussed on the light-hearted ribbing that was being inflicted on Hugo and Harriet.

"Has anyone seen my slipper?" Asked Dominic Rees.

Several middle-schoolers sniggered and said no.

"How about you, Harriet and Hugo? Have either of you seen a slipper today?!"

"Leave them alone." Said Malfoy, "Anyone can slip up."

"Certainly can." Said Zabini, "It's a slippery business trying to slip off to Hogsmeade."

The groan-inducing puns continued until Snape entered the room. "Bed." He barked at Hugo and Harriet before sitting down to join in with Millicent's book club. Harry remembered her saying that this month's offering, _The Silver Sword_ , was one of Snape's favourites. He had to admit that he was really enjoying it too, but now Snape was muscling in on the action, he was glad he'd been too sick to finish it.

Zabini and Nott both smiled and clapped him on the shoulder as they left the common room. Harry nearly cried. His body was aching so much he barely had the energy to drag himself to bed. But then he saw Crabbe look over at him and then glance at his chess board. No way was he going to be stuck for an hour while Crabbe explained the endless complexities of a knight's moves. He stood and stumbled over Jemima's foot. She laughed and gave him a playful thwack. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he did a rapid and painful shuffle to bed.

 **oOo**

 **Monday morning, 30** **th** **November**

Minerva poured him a cup of tea as Severus peered down from high table to seek out Potter. Was the irksome brat even eating? He had a bowl of porridge in front of him but was making precious little progress with it. He had no doubt the boy wasn't pleased at being restricted to the dungeons that weekend, but something wasn't right. Whenever he curtailed his Snakes' movements, they made a habit of keeping annoyingly within his range of sight, moping melodramatically, sighing despondently and generally signalling to the world they only had seconds left to live before they died of boredom. Severus had barely seen Potter over the weekend. Odd behaviour for a peeved child. Or perhaps he had an even greater capacity for sulking than Pansy Parkinson? A mind-boggling thought.

"What's up with Harry?" Asked Minerva, sliding the cup and saucer over.

"I grounded him, and then he went and restricted himself further to his dorm. Bloody middle-schoolers! Can we ship them all off to an uninhabited island, do you suppose?"

"I'm not sure Albus would go along with that plan."

"I'd allow them back when they were ready to enter the sixth-year." Argued Snape.

"Bring it up at the next staff meeting; you'll have Filius and myself backing you!"

Severus downed his cup of tea and sprang up from his chair with his usual energy. He tapped her on the shoulder,

"Potter will be fine." He said.

"I know. But …"

"Yes. I'll have a word with him when I see him."

"Thank you." Minerva reached to the side and tugged on Snape's gown, "You're a good housemaster; we never tell you that enough."

"And if he hasn't got over his sulk, I'll cane it out of him!"

"Don't you …" She didn't bother adding the 'dare'. For one thing, she knew he was joking. And for another, he'd already leapt down and was striding out of the Great Hall. Unlike Severus, she sipped her tea and sat there, saucer in one hand, tea cup in the other, and looked at the Slytherin breakfast stragglers. She found it hard to reconcile the opinion she'd once held of this house. But then Slytherin had changed so much. Even now they were withdrawn and secretive - apart from obvious exceptions like Pucey, Armitage-Brown and Zabini. But compared to when Snape was a student … Ah! That brought up some unpalatable memories. She needed to finish the cup of tea before she pondered on them.

She'd never liked him as a student. The boy was prickly, intimidating and too damn intelligent. She didn't like that he had some connection to Lily Evans - Minerva having the pitiful fancy that if she'd ever married Dougal McGregor and had a daughter, she'd have been just like Lily. A life devoted to teaching children can be a blessing for a childless woman, but it can also be a torment and make you do and feel things you know are wrong. Snape looked so incongruous next to Lily, all furtive looks, musty-smelling clothes and hem falling down on his too-big trousers. Whenever the opportunity arose, she separated the pair, pushing Lily towards the rest of the Lions and not much caring what Snape did with himself. Except, of course, a well-subdued part of her did care. From the corner of her eye she'd often see him sitting on a step somewhere, looking miserably alone whilst pretending to be engrossed in a book. But the more guilty she felt about her uncharitable feelings, the more she resented him.

He slunk more into the dark world of Slytherin as the years progressed and Minerva felt vindicated when he became close with Avery and Mulciber. James Potter took a shine to Lily and Minerva was pleased to see it reciprocated. James was a real boy, no dark looks and skulking around forgotten corridors for him. Yes, he could be brash at times, maybe a little insensitive - particularly where the weaker students were concerned, but those were simply the rough edges of youth. He meant no real harm; he was the epitome of Gryffindor spirit.

It was a marvel she and Snape had become friends. His return in '81 had almost seen Minerva resign. Elphinstone Urquhart persuaded her to stay. He knew he'd never be the love of Minerva's life but he adored her, and worried she might find someone else if she moved on. So, she stayed. She stayed and she campaigned for Snape's removal. He was untrustworthy; Dumbledore disagreed. He couldn't teach; Dumbledore had some sympathy with that assessment, but was certain Severus would improve. He couldn't control his house; again Dumbledore agreed, but who could control the Slytherins? Did Minerva want them, he wondered.

She gave a start as Sophie Blishwick looked over at her, and realised she'd been staring at the Slytherins. She sent an embarrassed smile Sophie's way, but the prefect was busy chivvying along some first-year girls and wasn't looking. The nervous fiddling with her ring started again and then Minerva splayed her left hand and eyed Elphinstone's ring that she still wore. She wished he'd been the love of her life and not Dougal McGregor; she still worried that he'd always felt second best. That wasn't how she felt about him now. Odd how a person's worth can take a while to make itself known, she thought.

 **oOo**

 **Monday lunchtime, 30** **th** **November, 1994**

"I can't see anyone in here, sir."

Fuckety Fuck! What the bleeding hell are they doing here?! Are they looking for me? It's lunchtime; they should be up in the Great Hall. Potter pulled his knees to his chest in the wing back chair. He wasn't sure why; he was doing nothing wrong. He didn't want lunch. He wasn't quite sure what The Git's thoughts were on a missed meal. Comportment, as Snape called it, during mealtimes had come up during the mammoth session about 'the rules', but as far as Harry could remember, skipping the actual meal hadn't. Bugger it. He was fourteen; he knew if he was hungry or not. And he was entitled to be in the common room. They couldn't dump him in Slytherin and then refuse to let him use the facilities, could they? This was the only sodding time he wanted to sit here - when none of the others were about.

"Look _again_ , Mister Armitage-Brown."

A brief glance in the mirror opposite and he saw AB pull a face at Snape's back. Ha! Even Slytherin's perfect prefect got fed up with the greasy tosser. He drew his cloak over his white shirt and tucked his chin to his chest; it made him near-invisible on the black leather chair.

"I can't find him, sir."

"Out of the way! If you want something done, do it yourself …" Growled Snape.

He would have loved to look; he'd bet AB was giving him the finger now.

"Come on out, Mister Delingpole. Make me look for you and you'll be a sorry truant indeed."

Little Archie! The one Slytherin that was always friendly and honest. Of course he'd be in trouble; he doesn't fit into Slytherin at all. What was the Sorting Hat thinking putting him here? Part of him wanted to stay and watch Snape waste his time searching for the boy. Potter knew he wasn't there; he'd checked all the chairs and sofas before he sat down. But if he was clever about it, he could get out of there and warn Archie that Snape was after him. The clip, clip of Snape's soles moved away, and he seized his chance.

 **oOo**

Snape pretended to scan the quiet reading area as Potter slid out of the room. Though the child had been sullen of late, he at least had the decency to allow Snape to deal privately with Delingpole. Either that, or he was off to cause more mayhem. He sighed at that thought, but Delingpole was top priority now and he marched straight to the curtains.

"You made me look for you, Mister Delingpole …"

No movement. Severus marvelled that such a small child could contain such a huge amount of stubbornness.

"Last chance. If I get to the count of three, you won't be sitting comfortably in your next class."

He didn't get to 'one' before the curtains twitched.

"How did you know I was here, sir?"

Snape didn't answer. Just took Archie's arm and led him to a chair, sat him down, seated himself opposite and placed both of his large hands on either side of the now-cocooned child.

"Why weren't you with Professor Binns? Were you truanting because you didn't finish your work?"

"No sir! It's in my satchel!"

"Then what's going on?"

"Just wanted to think about things."

"Most children daydream quite successfully in History of Magic; why did you come here?"

"Just wanted to be alone and think."

Severus stared at the boy. Ordinarily, Slytherin truants didn't fare well with him, but this time he sensed something was up.

"I found that hiding spot a long time before you did."

"Oh! Sorry sir, I'll get another one."

"I don't still use it, you foolish child!"

"Oh right."

"You might want to find another one; that one has a flaw."

Archie looked up.

"If you're hiding there and the others come thundering in, you have to stay put. And then you're late for your next class and you get in all sorts of bother."

"That happen to you, sir?"

"Twice. I moved to the curtains in the entrance hall. The hall's full of people, but no one looks behind the curtains. Alternatively … if it's not just quiet you're seeking, if something's bothering you, then you may always come to me. If you think I'm liable to be cross, then go to a prefect, or any of the older students."

Snape watched Delingpole weigh up those options and nod to himself.

"Is something bothering you?"

"We were on our way to History of Magic and we stopped to look at the old photographs in the corridor - we saw you there, sir! And then the others went on … but I saw another photograph … they both looked like me. It was an old photograph, sir, a bit yellow round the edges …"

Damn those bloody parents! Claude and Audrey Delingpole have to be the biggest cretins on the planet, thought Snape. Then he remembered his visit to their Oxfordshire estate when he'd grilled them about the Mirror of Merlin.

 **2** **nd** **November, 1994**

"Audrey thinks it may be at the house in Sardinia, don't you old girl?"

"I _did_ , Claudie. But now I wonder if it was left at Lech? Oh, Professor Snape! I simply don't know! Ever since you sent that owl I've been racking my brains …"

What brains, you old sow? Thought Severus. But he said nothing, just stared wide-eyed at the Delingpoles and became silently terrified that an object that would lead to his certain death had ever been in the 'safe-keeping' of this pair. The Death Eaters that still remained would kill him in a heartbeat. And what more would happen? Archie Delingpole would be dead too. Severus knew the bloodlust; he'd never be exchanged for the mirror. The boy would be found in a ditch somewhere. Who'd watch over Potter? Who would Dumbledore lean on next? Sprout? Flitwick? And his Snakes … Were they doomed to become the heirs of Rosier, Mulciber and Avery?

Severus' desperate panic kept him mute and immobilised as the Delingpoles bumbled around the room flipping up cushions and peering behind ornaments as if the mirror might have been misplaced like a child's mitten. They lost Christopher and Hugh over this, thought Severus. The enormity and horror of that thought snapped him out of his paralysis. He barked at the pair to cease their foolishness and they obeyed him like simple-minded four-year-olds.

 **oOo**

That week away from Hogwarts he'd spent systematically - and fruitlessly - searching all of their properties in Britain and listing their homes abroad. Working with Dumbledore, he set about finding and vetting suitable staff who were sufficiently capable and trustworthy to accompany the Delingpoles overseas in their search.

Snape had always felt he didn't owe much to Tobias in the way of gratitude. But standing in Claude Delingpole's drawing room, he almost fell to his knees in thanks for the muggle blood that coursed through his veins. What was being knocked about for a few years compared to a lifetime of infantile doltishness? Purebloods were a curse. Years of inbreeding had turned them either witless or brutish, or in certain cases like the Goyles and the Flints, both. Delingpole's parents were merely dim, but even that lesser crime caused untold headaches. How could they send their son to Hogwarts without telling him the truth? Most of the wizarding world knew what had happened in that family; did they think no one would talk? He stood and held out a hand to Archie.

"Help me check on the Giant Squid; it seems the Merpeople are teasing her again."

Archie let himself be pulled up from the chair and strolled to the windows under the lake, where his housemaster did his best to gently inform the child of the two people in the photograph.


	16. Chapter 16

Thank you to ' **Guest** ' who said it was a wonderful story - very kind.

Thanks to ' **Guest** ' who liked the duality of Snape's character. I agree; I love him being snarky yet capable of tenderness.

Thanks to ' **Guest Liz** ' - but why regret Snape not confronting Harry? It was only part one of the chapter!

Thanks **Hamlet**! And yes to the question of teenagers! You know, that was a great idea about follow-up one shots; I think I will do that. Thanks again!

Thank you **NickoTime**. Sirius does get a brief appearance - but I'm afraid if you're an avid Sirius-lover, it won't be enough to satisfy you (not that he's treated badly).

 **Chapter 16: I'm Sick _and_ Everyone Hates Me - Part 2**

Harry kept his eyes peeled for the remaining forty minutes of lunchtime but didn't see Archie anywhere. He just hoped that Snape hadn't either. Short-term plan of course, but if The Git was getting ratty with AB then Archie didn't stand a chance. Snape would yell at Archie, bully him and sneer. Once again he reflected that Archie was no duplicitous Slytherin.

Lunch time was almost over and he'd have to head off to Potions. He couldn't do any more.

"Harry! _Harry_!"

Hermione galloped up behind him so fast she ploughed into his back.

"Where've you been?! I've been so worried; I didn't see you all weekend! What did Snape say to you?"

"What are you on about?" Asked Harry.

But it wasn't a genuine question; he knew the answer already.

Hermione had told Snape about him skipping astronomy. She'd grown so alarmed at his moodiness, she felt he was about to tip over the edge and do something to get himself expelled. Snape seemed the natural person to tell.

"What did you say to him?" Harry asked.

"Well, not much. I only got in that you weren't going to class before he told me to get out of his sight."

Should he have been angry with Hermione for meddling? Perhaps, but he wasn't. That was what Hermione did, and fair's fair, she was probably right to most of the time. Besides, he was too busy feeling relieved that Malfoy wasn't the rat in the ranks and that Slytherin hadn't all turned against him. He thought about Gregory Goyle hovering over his bed, commenting on his sleep and Malfoy hissing at the big gorilla to get away and leave him alone. He'd misread it all. Then he remembered all the sullen, one word answers he'd given to perfectly polite enquiries. He had to get to potions; he had some serious back-tracking to do.

 **oOo**

He dumped his bag down on the high wooden bench, looked his dorm mates in the eye and was about to admit he'd been a prat when Crabbe spoke.

"Talking again?"

"Yeah … sorry." He smiled awkwardly.

"It's okay, Potter." Said Malfoy, "We figured it must've been your time of the month!"

Potter couldn't believe that that was it. Zabini nudged him.

"Drama queen! Have you been taking lessons from Pansy?!"

The nudge hadn't been anything, but in Potter's weakened state it sent him sliding off the other side of the stool.

"Potter! Stop fooling around! And why is your book not open?"

He looked up in a dizzy haze and slipped as he tried to regain his seat. A strong hand steadied him while another went straight to his brow.

"You're burning up! How long has this been going on, you idiotic boy?!"

 **oOo**

It's a strange thing how, whenever you're in the presence of medical folk, almost all signs of illness completely disappear.

"I feel fine!" Croaked Harry as Poppy Pomfrey chivvied him into bed and tightened the covers across his chest.

"Of course you do. A temperature of a hundred and one, blurred vision and staggering are the constant companions of rude, good health." Mocked Snape. "Don't be a simpleton, Potter. You're sick and most likely have been for days."

Fortunately for Potter, the cheery hospital visitor had to return to his class and even though Madam Pomfrey chided him for not letting on he was sick, she just didn't cut it compared to The Git. Shortly after, he got a fleeting visit from Dumbledore, who wittered on a bit about expanded horizons and the grass sometimes being just as green on the other side of the fence. The headmaster started chuckling once he'd said the word 'green' as if he'd made a great joke and Harry laughed along out of politeness. Nice of him to come, but Harry was relieved when he left.

Half an hour later, McGonagall sent up a box of Cauldron Cakes - plus a note asking if Harry had forgotten that heads of house were there to be confided in and informed immediately of any problems a student may have, including illness. She finished off by wondering if he needed to write that information out on three feet of parchment in order to remember it. That's a bloody Snape comment, that is. Harry thought to himself. McGonagall had put an exclamation mark at the end, so he was pretty certain it was a joke, but all the same … The bizarre thought entered his brain that Snape and McGonagall might be friends. Bizarre and … well, actually, quite nice really.

But once the warm feeling from Dumbledore's visit and McGonagall's gift had worn off, the tedium of the sick bed set in. No one else was laid up in bed, though Madam Pomfrey had had a few visits from girls clutching their stomachs, who she'd bustled into her office and ten minutes later lovingly ejected from the room,

"Life has to go on, dearie; you can't take to your bed every month. Keep using that heating charm and take the potion if you need to; there's a brave girl."

Harry realised after the second girl just what it was that had brought them there. His face flushed scarlet and he threw himself back on his pillow, pretending to be asleep. He wished he was asleep; it would make being stuck there more bearable. Did anyone else spend as much time as he did with Madam Pomfrey? He'd been dosed with who knows how many potions, and was in that foggy netherworld - not in pain but listless. Listless and so very, very bored.

 **oOo**

Harry liked Madam Pomfrey, he really did. But by the end of the second morning he was bored witless - so witless, he even pulled out a Potions book that Snape had thoughtfully left with him. That sent him off to sleep, but it was only a light drowse and twenty minutes later he was back to being bored.

Poppy's floo fired into life and Professor Sprout gave a garbled yet urgent-sounding request that the Mediwitch come and help out with some Snargaluff plants that were refusing to be harvested. She looked at Harry, her brow creased with worry. Would Harry mind awfully being spectacularly brave and spending an hour alone while she helped out? No, no he wouldn't mind at all. Should she see if Professor Snape could watch him? Not necessary! Harry would miss her, but he'd totter on.

He did totter on; he tottered on and out of the hospital wing. Throwing on school trousers and cloak over his pyjamas, he sneaked off to find some company. His usual crew - ex and current house - weren't about, though he did manage to have a good chat with Duncan Inglebee about what innovations he expected from the next Firebolt. But Snape had eyes everywhere, and he was soon pounced upon by the Dark Overlord of the Dungeons.

"You're behaving like a first-year!" He hissed, "They disobey because they don't know what's good for them. Shall I treat you as I treat them?"

Oh, please no! And definitely not here on the first floor corridor! Prayed Harry before mumbling his agreement that leaving the hospital wing had indeed been foolish. He turned to head back but Snape wasn't trusting him; he took firm hold of his arm and half carried him there. Once in bed Harry felt a rush of weariness and in no time at all he was drifting off to sleep.

 **oOo**

Bleary eyes saw the housemaster waving his wand.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm putting a sticking charm on you - you won't move out of that bed for the rest of the week. I'll be back with the bed pan in a few minutes." Snape snapped.

"Are you serious?!" Asked an alarmed Harry.

"No, you asinine child! I was closing the curtains."

The boy stuck his toe out from the side of the blankets just to make sure.

"I'm bored."

"Are we dispensing with 'sir'?"

"I'm bored, sir."

"Then read the book I brought you."

A bloody Potions book?! Harry was half dead and Snape left him a Potions book? He wasn't even going to entertain the idea of being polite.

"It's boring."

"No one could possibly be bored with that book!" Argued Snape.

"I could and I am … _sir_."

"The triumph over adversity?! The understanding?! The _humanity_?! Joseph Balicki is a hero!"

Harry's muddled brain couldn't compute that sentence.

"Which potion did he make, then?"

"Potion? What in Merlin's name are you blathering about?"

Snape stormed over to the bed and demanded Harry show him the book. When Harry handed over Arsenius Jigger's _Magical Draughts and Potions_ , Snape almost swiped him round the head with it - but thought Madam Pomfrey might consider his patient care unorthodox.

"Ridiculous child! What are you doing with my textbook?! _This_ is the book I left for you! _Your_ book. Move over; I'm going to read from where your feeble brain apparently lost interest. And if you even think about saying the 'b' word, I'll slipper you every night for a week!"

Despite the threat, Harry smiled as Snape perched on the foot of the bed and proceeded to lay his long legs on the mattress, shoes carefully dangling over the edge. The comforting familiarity made him forget to point out Snape had made the mistake of leaving his Potions book in the first place, or that he'd only stopped reading because his eyes were too sore to focus on the words. Soon all else was forgotten as they both fell into the rousing world of ' _The Silver Sword'_.

Snape stayed for five chapters, as it turned out. The 'b' word wasn't thought of once; Harry loved it.

"Sir?"

He was going to ask how Archie was. He knew Snape wouldn't divulge any details of how or why Archie got into trouble, but he thought he could gauge from Snape's tone the way things had gone for the first-year.

"Yes Potter?"

On second thoughts, whatever had happened to Archie, had happened. Harry was enjoying this time; he didn't want to get Snape fired up into a rubbishy, narky mood. He switched questions.

"Has Licorus Black come back yet?"

"No, but his return is imminent. The Baron informs me he's waiting for his singed moustache to regrow first. No doubt we'll soon have to suffer an even more churlish portrait - all thanks to you and Miss Bulstrode." Snape skewered him with a particularly sour look, "If it happens again, I'll slipper the pair of you …"

"Every night for a week." Finished Harry. "I don't know why he's bothering coming back if he's so miserable."

"What do you think the purpose of the portraits is, Potter? It certainly isn't for you to direct impudent remarks at them. Licorus Black is invaluable to me in keeping abreast of student movements. For all he has a bad temper, he happens to care very much about the students - and there isn't much that escapes him, or his friends. You'd do well to remember that."

He might as well have asked about Archie; he'd ended up getting told off anyway. But that was okay; that's what Snape did. And as time went on, Harry began to see that there was actually a message behind the scoldings; it wasn't just Snape calling him an idiot - like he'd thought in the past.

The housemaster stood and began neatening the bed clothes where he'd lain, which for some reason made Harry chuckle.

"You're easily amused, Potter." Observed Snape, snapping the sheet tight across the boy's chest and then landing a light swat to his thigh.

"Finish that book." He ordered, "And no leaving the hospital wing."

"I wouldn't do that, sir! You'd slipper me every night for a week!"

 **oOo**

He raced through the rest of the book, thrilling at the wartime adventures. Who were the allies? Who was really the enemy? Who could be trusted? But it's an awful thing, to finish a good read. He wished he'd stayed longer in the common room that night and heard Snape's thoughts on the book. For some reason, he wanted to know. He laid the book on his blanket, gave the cover a loving pat, and felt boredom, once more, creep in.

Relief came that evening. As well as his supper tray, Madam Pomfrey delivered a care package courtesy of the Slytherins. Along with the notes and cards, Pansy had drawn a flicker book of him blasting the hourglasses to smithereens and Millicent had provided one of Hermione looking on and giving a silent yet tortured scream at the loss of the points jar. Draco had written him a note in which he claimed to have seen one of Viktor Krum's training sessions. According to Draco, Viktor was foregoing any lessons in favour of constant training and now possessed near-superhuman strength and speed. His note ended with the advice, 'If you've any sense at all Potter, you'll stay in that hospital bed until the fifth year!' Yeah, thanks Malfoy.

Malcolm sent up Archie's miniature snitch with a warning note - Harry had to keep an eye out for Snape. It hadn't been returned to Archie; Malcolm had filched it from Snape's desk drawer. No note from Archie. Odd. Had he got into a lot of trouble with Snape on Monday, he wondered.

Tory, Elsa and Alicia had knitted Harry a teddy bear. At least Harry thought it was a bear, but really it could have been anything from a kangaroo to a caterpillar. He picked it up to try and determine exactly what it was, and from the various dropped stitches out fell a mass of the Honeydukes hoard Snape had impounded after Arno and Harriet's Hogsmeade jaunt. Harry was chuffed. His new housemates had gone all out.

 **oOo**

A day later, Poppy officially declared him not infectious and about three seconds after that Draco Malfoy sauntered through the hospital doors.

"Getting better, I hear. Too bad for you. Krum's going to pound you in the next task!"

"Yeah, I got your note. Thanks for that, you're a real tonic when a person's feeling like death!"

Malfoy smirked and hopped up on the side of the bed.

"You'll feel like death alright - come the next task!"

Potter could see Madam Pomfrey hovering nervously and was just about to say 'It's okay. It's banter; we always talk like this. We're mates.' He didn't actually say it, but even thinking it had given him a real jolt. Shaking his head, he saw AB leading in the rest of the fourth-years. Millicent plonked herself down in the bedside chair.

"The Brainbox has been worried sick about you and if she asks me one more time how you are, I'm going to punch her. Just warning you."

"Freckle Face keeps asking too." Added Pansy with a roll of her eyes.

That made him happy.

"Why are you just in a normal bed?" Asked Crabbe. "You should have your own special bed; you wind up in the hospital wing enough!"

"A four-poster!" Suggested Nott, "Permanently reserved for Potter, the king of the hospital layabouts!"

AB laughed and then handed over a box of Ice Mice, which prompted the Snakes to raid Potter's cabinet in search of any other treats he might have been given. Crabbe and Goyle found the remaining Cauldron Cakes and got stuck in as Daphne briefed Potter on the events that he'd missed.

The fifth-year were furious with Hugo and Harriett for getting caught. They hadn't ratted anyone out, but Snape suspected a fifth-year of aiding and abetting the pair and had cancelled their scheduled Hogsmeade visit until someone owned up.

"It's true. It was Philip." Said Pansy matter-of-factly. "I heard him talking to them on the lake window seat."

"Ssh!" Said Harry, eyes silently signalling AB's presence.

"I'm not Snape's spy, Potter!" Laughed AB, "Contrary to popular belief, even I've been ordered over the dreaded sofa arm!"

" _You_?!" Harry couldn't help it; it just came flying out of his mouth.

"Tell him about you and Urquhart and 'The Great Chase'!" Laughed Millicent.

AB groaned and then smiled at the memory.

"A tale altogether too dreadful for the sick bed! Some other time." He said.

Of course, that reply had Potter intrigued. He looked to Millicent.

"Not my tale to tell."

She would say that. And he really liked that about her. What else was news with the dungeon-dwellers? Karkaroff was still creeping around. Third-year Frances Honeywell had drawn and circulated a cartoon strip of the reptilian headmaster worming his way through the dungeons. Snape got hold of it and she received 'the summons', but his heart clearly wasn't in it. She returned from his study smiling and didn't have to go to her dorm. Fleur Delacoeur was still reducing any male student to a quivering heap, though Pansy scoffed at the very notion. The new common room sofas had arrived - Snape was now more obsessive than ever about no shoes on the seats. And with those snippets, Potter was all caught up.

Having wolfed the cauldron cakes in no time at all, Vincent Crabbe let out a huge burp, which was bettered - both in volume and duration - by Gregory Goyle.

"Yeah, and they're both still doing _that_." Added Millicent.

"By the way, Snape said not to worry about any Potions work you've missed." Said Daphne.

"Good one!" Said Potter.

"Because it'll all be waiting in a nice, big pile for you when you return!" Added Malfoy.

"He's joking." Said AB, "Well, sort of. A bit. Actually, he's not joking at all. Anyway you lot, time to let Potter rest."

The Head Prefect pointed them all to the door, and turned to say a final cheerio.

"Did Archie get in much trouble on Monday?" Asked Potter.

"He didn't get in any trouble, as it happens."

AB paused.

"Look, I know Millicent told you about Hugh and Christopher. The thing is Archie didn't know … but now he does. Don't look so concerned. He had to find out sooner or later and I know you'll find it hard to believe, but Snape's not a bad person to hear news like that from."

"It must be so weird for him, and sad. Why didn't his mum and dad tell him? I mean, they had eleven years."

Armitage-Brown clearly wasn't keen on discussing the Delingpoles and Harry was worried that he'd overstepped the mark. Maybe this was 'Slytherin business' and he had no right to know. Or maybe he knew more than AB. Did AB even know about The Mirror of Merlin? Apart from nutty Xenophilius Lovegood, the man everyone thought was barking mad, who did know?

After searching around for the right words, AB finally pronounced Archie's parents supremely loving, yet 'limited'. It sounded like a nice way of saying someone was thick, but Harry kept that to himself.

"Did they come and see him, his mum and dad?"

"They can't. They're away. But his old nanny came and took him out and he's been spending a lot of time with Snape."

Potter almost pulled a face at hearing that, but then realised he was only doing it out of habit. If he thought a moment, he could see Archie being comforted by Snape's presence. Then AB noticed one of Harry's 'get well soon' cards on the floor and stooped to pick it up. He started laughing again.

"Who were you hiding these from? Snape, or Crabbe and Goyle?!"

"What? Oh! The sweets!"

He'd put the knitted teddy bear's contents under the bedside cabinet - and clean forgotten about it.

"Would you like some?" Offered Harry.

AB gave a quick look at the door.

"Go on, then." The Head Prefect said before choosing a Fudge Fly, "But do try and palm them off on your Gryffindor pals when they visit; Snape wouldn't take kindly to seeing them."

"Don't worry; Ron'll make short work of these! AB? You won't have to tell Snape about Philip, will you?"

"No! We're really not Snape's secret agents, you know. He's pretty clear on the role of prefects; setting a good example, of course, and getting along well with other professors, assisting with classes sometimes and looking after younger students. But he doesn't expect us to snitch! The only time he expects us to confide in him is if anyone is in trouble. Though I really should tell Philip to go and confess. The longer he leaves it, the worse it's going to go for him; Snape's bound to find out eventually. Anyway, got to go. It's the Slytherin Exploding Snap Championship tonight - attendance compulsory!"

"To cheer Archie up?" Asked Potter.

"Yep."

"Snape's idea?"

"Actually, it was Pansy's."

He'd never have guessed that.

"Thanks for the Ice Mice, by the way."

"Oh, they weren't from me. Snape sent them up. Purely for medicinal reasons, good for a sore throat, so he said."

Potter was alone again. But he wasn't bored; he needed the time and space to process all his thoughts. Thinking fondly of Malfoy - how long would that state of affairs last? Thoughtfulness from Pansy. Snape sending up Ice Mice? Bloody hell. But poor Archie - and his parents - reaping the awful repercussions of family joining the Death Eaters. And Snape picking up the pieces. He bit the head off an icy mouse - and felt strangely warmed by it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you** to all the un-named guests.

 **Fan/Guest:** thank you for your lovely comment about Harry's 'dawning realisation'.

 **Hamlet:** second chapter of one-shots duly noted! And ta very much for the great compliment; made my day!

 **A/N 1:** I love Minerva, I really do. However, I also see a nasty streak in her - and I love that too because it makes her real. I'm not interested in plaster saints. If you read, you'll see why I mention that.

 **A/N 2:** One aspect of the books I didn't like was the revelation that Snape does what he does all for the love of Lily - so I've broken with canon here.

 **Chapter 16: Minerva**

Snape strode along the battlements to his favourite alcove, ducked in and lit a celebratory cigarette. He patted the almost full pack in his breast pocket, then swore at not having had the foresight to bring a hip flask; he could have stayed up here all evening if he had. The early winter snowstorm had kept the students indoors and he was more than happy to come up to the top of the castle and escape the chaos of the common room. Snape loved a storm. But the smile on his face wasn't for successfully fleeing his Snakes, nor for the snow and wind. The smile was for what had just taken place in Albus's study.

 **Forty minutes prior**

" _But Albus, Potter is a Gryffindor!"_

" _Indeed he is, Minerva. Through and through."_

" _Then why?"_

" _Odd things are happening; you've said so yourself. Of the three of us, Severus, I believe, is best placed to keep an eye on Harry. It's just one more term,"  
_

 _"I am quite capable …" Began McGonagall._

" _Of course you are, but I fear I may need your services as deputy."  
_

 _Severus kept silent throughout their exchange. He knew Minerva was upset - as he would be if one of his students were taken from him. He also agreed with the witch; she was more than capable of looking after Potter and guiding him through the blasted tournament. But the headmaster's decision worked well with his own plans, so he remained impervious to Minerva's imploring eyes. She saw that - and didn't like it one bit._

" _Fine! Another term it is then. But don't think you can use this to try and turn him into one of your damned Snakes, Severus Snape!"_

 **oOo**

An angry mewling made Severus turn and a snow-soaked cat jumped from the battlement wall to his feet. He stood back and wondered how she'd be when she transfigured.

"Is that a cigarette you're hiding behind your back?!"

Still in combative mood, then.

"You're supposed to destroy any student contraband, not steal it! Give me one!"

He chuckled, leant back into his lair, lit another cigarette and handed it to her. She took a long drag and gave the familiar cough of the inexperienced smoker. Severus leant on the battlements blowing smoke rings and slyly watching his colleague. She was chewing on her lip and he recognised it as the sign she was working herself up to say something.

"Out with it, old woman!"

Her eyebrow rose at the unflattering appellation, but it was just part of their well-practised verbal dance, equal parts insults and tenderness. This pair had been through far too much to faff around with politeness - except, of course, when students were within earshot.

"I shouldn't have spoken like that about your Snakes. I'm sorry. You have a difficult house and you've worked wonders with them. I was angry. I didn't think; I just reacted."

"Of course you did; you're a Gryffindor."

She didn't take the bait, so he continued to dangle it.

"And so is Potter. One more term with me won't change that. You promised me at the beginning of all this that you'd take him back at the first sign of trouble. And I promise you now that at the first sign of Potter showing any shrewdness, intelligence and basic self-preservation, I'll return him straight to you."

"You were much easier to deal with when I could just give you detention. You know that, don't you?!"

Severus aimed a smoke ring at her nose. She maintained the primly pursed lips a few seconds before smiling, and then just as quickly she looked puzzled.

"I don't know what Albus's plan is." Said Minerva.

"Do we ever?" Replied Snape. "Why not have our own plan? Let's make the little pests get along with each other."

"But they're so different."

"Are they? Potter seems to fit in well, even with Malfoy. They're children, Minerva, and given the right encouragement, children can learn to rub along. It took you a few years, but you forgave me my past deeds. Surely you can't blame my Snakes for what their parents did?"

"Severus! I couldn't think of a more abhorrent idea! I would never hold that against them!"

Maybe not now, Severus would grant her that. But there'd been a time not so many years ago when Minerva had barely been able to look at a Slytherin - both the student and housemaster variety.

 **oOo**

In his first year of teaching, she found Snape hateful and pathetic but his utter misery at least gave her some comfort. The following year, however, something about him had changed. He'd returned to school confident and determined, and that enraged her. However, her marriage to Elphinstone that same year finally brought her a measure of happiness and when her teaching day was finished, she returned quickly to their home in Hogsmeade. Between 1982 and 1985, Minerva was happy. And then Elphinstone Urquhart died.

She left Hogsmeade to return to her old rooms at Hogwarts a broken woman. Her chance at happiness and a life other than teaching all gone in the split second it took the venomous tentacula to sink its spike into Elphinstone. Her friendship with Pomona re-kindled itself; Poppy and Filius visited her rooms on Thursday nights to make a four at bridge. But there was a gaping chasm in her life. She took to spending too long planning her lessons; she over-marked assignments; she pointlessly rearranged her classroom seating. Yet still she had time in her day for old enmities to re-surface.

Her life lacked any core, and this was only exacerbated when she looked at _him_. His stoop had disappeared. His scrawniness had gone and he'd filled out into his adult body. His speech wasn't apologetic; it was rich and resonant. He no longer slinked along corridors but strode quickly and erect. He seldom sought company in the staffroom, preferring to stay down in the dungeons. And his house, she was forced to admit, was going from strength to strength. The unfairness of it all came to a head one summer's night in July, the night that Slytherin took the House Cup from Gryffindor.

She'd forced herself to clap politely as Albus read out the shock announcement, though the smile on her face wasn't for the Slytherin win but the lacklustre applause it garnered from the other houses. Once in her rooms she'd thrown off her hat and gown and leapt for the solace of the quarter bottle of scotch hidden behind the tea pot. Like any true Highlander, Minerva drank her scotch neat. That night, however, she mixed it with misery and resentment - not a good combination. Her losses - Dougal, Robert, James and Lily - loomed large all around her, as if the Hogwarts' ghosts had invited friends for an end of year get-together. Her mind ran through the losses suffered by each of her treasured colleagues, quite a toll. But one amongst them had chosen the side that wrought those deaths, and Minerva intended to make him suffer that night.

He can sequester himself in these blasted dungeons with his secretive house; reasoned Minerva as she tottered unsteadily down the steep dungeon stairs; he can keep himself apart from us, but there is one thing he cannot escape from, his love for Lily. Minerva recalled the forlorn fourteen-year-old Snape's face that late afternoon so many years ago.

 _It had been a perfect weekend; students were jolly but not misbehaved; planned activities went without a hitch and - most rewarding for Minerva - her third-years had sought her out to come and watch them as they demonstrated their flying prowess. Late Sunday afternoon, the weekend was drawing itself to a close in a most satisfying and mellow manner._

 _All her favourites were around her on the happy walk to the practice fields - Lily at her right, James and Sirius bobbing around displaying just the right amount of teasing cheekiness about Minerva's own flying skills. Remus walked on her left and smiled shyly at his friends' banter. She looked at them all and marvelled at what a thoroughly wholesome and pleasant bunch they were … and then she saw him. No, no, no. He was not going to pollute her time with her Lions. She felt Lily pull away towards Snape and immediately sent her on ahead to check that the far practice field was free._

" _Are you lost Mr Snape? This is the way to practise quidditch, not gobstones."_

 _Sirius snorted with derision,_

" _No. That'll be in the back alley of some dingy pub!"_

 _James laughed and Snape glared at them both; Minerva pretended not to have heard them._

" _I wanted to see …"_

 _She knew exactly whom he wanted to see - and she wasn't having it._

" _Back to the dungeons, Mr Snape; we are all busy with flying here. Are you intending to fly?"_

 _Of course he wasn't; he didn't own a broom. Minerva knew that. Her abrupt tone made him stumble and then trip on his trouser hem, causing him to fall backwards onto the ground. Sirius and James loved that. Minerva carried on walking, drawing her Lions along with her. She looked back over her shoulder._

" _And while you're there, I suggest you mend your trousers. You let the whole school down wearing those."_

That memory, whenever she permitted it entrance into her thoughts, usually made shrivel with shame … how bullying, how callous. Though she was undoubtedly strict and had a sharp tongue, no other student brought that out in her. But after several drams of whisky, she found the memory almost pleasing. She was certain of Snape's undying love, and that was her chosen weapon for bringing him pain that night.

Never scheme when you're blotto. A drunken haze doesn't complicate matters; it simplifies them to a ludicrous extent. Minerva's plan went awry the second Snape pulled his head from the pensieve - the pensieve that held her memories of visiting and watching over the Potter child in Surrey. Snape shocked Minerva by declaring that the Dursley's child was deserving of just as much pity as young Potter.

"How can you say that?! You saw my memories! You saw that awful child bullying and hitting Harry for no reason!"

"Yes, I saw an awful child - made awful by its incompetent parents. They've allowed their love to tip over into mania. What hope does he have? What kind of life will he have when any reasonable adult is left only wishing to slap him? The Potters' boy will come out of this better than he will."

It was a reasonable assessment, but Minerva didn't want reason. She wanted him to see the closest living thing to Lily and rage in torment that the child was so mistreated. And then she wanted to be the one to land the killer blow - inform him that nothing could be done. Harry Potter would have to stay there; the blood wards decreed it. Snape was supposed to be agonised by the pensieve's revelation; her plan wasn't working out.

"That's Lily's only child! You must be tormented by what he's going through! You still love her!"

"Do I?"

Minerva stood, mouth agape. He _had_ loved her; she knew that. But the whisky in her veins was becoming less potent. The stark black and white of drunken zealotry was slowly being replaced by nuanced greys. Perhaps the love had waned? It was years ago, after all. Her mouth slowly closed and her face began to crumple. She turned quickly but Snape could see the heaving shoulders. A crying woman. Three years ago this sight would have terrified him. However, the new Snape didn't just know how to subdue and discipline, but also how to comfort - when absolutely necessary. He stepped forward and put his arm around her.

"Leave me!"

He didn't; instead he pulled her close. She didn't fight. They both stood in the middle of the room, his chin resting on her head. Neither spoke for some time until eventually Snape gave a deep murmur.

"What's all this? Tears? Even the Slytherin Lower School has learned they don't work on me."

She was embarrassed at being gently chided like an upset first-year but all the same, it did feel good to let go. Anger and loss are physically painful when you make the foolish decision to try and override them. Is this the scruffy, gangly boy I did my best to ignore? The boy I wilfully demeaned? Her head rested on the expensive Russell cord of his gown and she felt the strong hand rhythmically pat her back.

After a minute or so, he edged her to sit on the sofa, while he took the armchair. As she dabbed at her face with a thin, worn handkerchief, he looked at her carefully and finally spoke.

"I did love Lily. She was my only friend for many years, and I mourned her death."

"And now?" Asked Minerva between sniffs.

"And now I still mourn occasionally. But not her, I mourn what was lost."

"Lost?"

"Lost to me. She was the only bit of good I had in my life. I wasn't strong enough to carry on without her; I gave in."

You shouldn't have had to carry on by yourself, thought Minerva. You were a child. She wanted to say it, yet she didn't. She'd spent so many years despising him; it was too soon.

"They're despicable muggles. The child does suffer." She said.

"Do you know what the Death Eaters did to their children? They brutalized them and then played their cruellest trick ..."

"What was that?" Minerva asked when Severus grew silent.

"They duped their children into loving and admiring them, into accepting their horrifying fate and believing there was no other choice but to continue the madness. The Potter's child will survive his paltry meals and shabby clothes … but …"

He sighed and ran his thumb up and down the bridge of his nose,

"but I wouldn't wish that loneliness and abandonment on any child … it can lead them to find companionship in the most dangerous of places."

It wasn't an immediate friendship. Once Minerva had collected herself enough to walk through the school, she left. But her lonely hours were spent considering his answers that night. She thought back to how thin and badly clothed he'd been as a student. He'd been just as uncared for as Harry. She thought long and hard on that - mainly to block out his more disturbing thoughts on loneliness and abandonment. But when that thought did break through her shields, it caused her no end of pain.

She tried to pin the blame on Horace Slughorn. The problem there was that Minerva was too noble and decent for such a convenient subterfuge. Slughorn had been a useless head of house. But they'd all known that. No one approved of his lack of duty or care, but no one intervened either. They'd all been complicit. Snape had been a troubled child through no fault of his own. He must have hated Hogwarts. It made her wonder all the more why he was back there.

 **oOo**

"So how do we force them to become friends?" Minerva asked.

"We start out small. Give me a list of all the sad souls in Gryffindor who have no ball date."

"What do you want that for?"

"So I can laugh at them, Minerva." Snape paused to roll his eyes, "Why do you think? So I can pair them up with the Slytherin untouchables, of course."

"But you told Albus the Slytherins didn't want to attend."

"They don't - but I'm not giving them a choice. I just didn't want our great leader to think he was getting his way with everything."

Minerva smiled and the pair smoked a while in silence as the snow fell on them and melted into their cloaks.

"Have you got arthritis?"

"What?! I'm thirty-four; of course I don't have arthritis!"

"Well, the way you're rubbing your left arm … If the cold brings it on, it probably is arthritis. I've a good heat rub in my room that'll help with that."

"I do _not_ have arthritis. My arm happens to be sore from beating Potter."

Her eyes widened, but then she saw the sly grin on his face.

"That doesn't work, Severus; you're right-handed."

They had another cigarette apiece and turned their gaze to watch the falling snow disappear into the depths of the Black Lake.

"Potter is happy, isn't he?"

"He is."

"I still see his father when I look at him." She said.

Severus knew the feeling, but he was fighting hard against it.

"Why up here?!" She suddenly exclaimed.

"No students." Replied Snape.

"Oh! Yes. It has been a long week, hasn't it?"

"Those bloody first and second years are all over me like ants!"

"You should try not visiting your common room so often!" Smiled Minerva.

Snape laughed.

"Are we on for a tipple tonight?"

"Already have Albus' finest sitting on my sideboard!" Answered McGonagall.

"Then I'll come to you."

 **oOo**

The din from the common room was such that no one heard him enter. He stood and glowered at the mess, the yelling students, the running about and the jumping on furniture. Marcus Flint was the first to spot him and he nudged Peregrine Derrick before leaping to his feet. It took a while for word to spread, but eventually activities - both allowed and forbidden - ceased and the Snakes were all standing.

Snape strode over to the notice board and pinned up a Yule Ball poster. It was the fifth such poster; they had a habit of mysteriously disappearing.

"Pucey?" He called, "Round up all the fourth to seventh-years. I need a word with them."

"Doesn't sound good." Whispered Warrington.

Snape looked over at the fireside sofa,

"But I need a word with you first, Potter. Follow me."

Potter did follow him and felt a bit foolish doing so as Snape made several detours to tell off folk for bending book spines, chide the first-year girls for making too much mess with their paper snowflake-making, order the younger boys to lower their voices and issue a few slaps to the thighs of the furniture jumpers. It seemed he wasn't in a great mood. But eventually Potter found himself being prodded into Snape's study. And as with anyone in the history of the world that finds themselves being ushered into a housemaster's study, he'd already performed a mental audit of every single interaction he'd had in the past week. As far as he knew he was in the clear; he couldn't think of a single thing that Snape might take exception to.

"How long had you been ill before I took you to the hospital wing?"

Oh, that was it.

"Erm … three days, sir."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"Erm …"

"You weren't." Snape declared, "You were going to foolishly battle on, probably infecting half the house in the process. Potter, I have seventy-one others to take care of. It's an impossible task unless the older years meet me half way; your histrionics do not help."

"I didn't want to make a fuss!"

"Oh, spare me! It was self-aggrandizement in the extreme. Are you aware I have a third-year in my care who was extremely ill as a small child? As a result, she has a highly compromised immune system. Had she caught your 'flu, she'd have spent a lot more than five days with Madam Pomfrey."

"I didn't know!"

"No, you didn't - that's the point! Listen to me, Potter. No one chooses to be isolated; it happens through lack of care. It brings no good; you only end up harming yourself and others. And though you didn't choose your start in life, you do have the power to affect change. This deluded martyrdom you're so prone to at some point becomes arrogance, and if I am to have your presence for another term …"

" _What_?"

"I'll get to that. If I am to have you in Slytherin until Easter, your shambolic attempts at heroism had better stop - else you'll be in this study for a rather more unpleasant discussion. Am I clear?"

"Not about the 'until Easter' bit!"

"It would seem the headmaster is pleased with how you've been progressing here. How unfortunate for you! Still, if it makes your disappointment any easier to bear, just think of how much pleasure an extra three months with you shall bring me."

Snape paused to gift Harry a patently false and sickeningly sweet smile. Harry laughed.

"I'm fine with being here!"

"How touching. Out, Potter! Back to the common room."

 **oOo**

Snape marched the forty-two students down the corridor and into his potions classroom. He wasn't wearing his gown, so they knew he didn't have his slipper with him; that brought relief all round. But then, as fifth-year Philip Aitcheson observed, he had potion stirrers aplenty in the classroom,

"I'd rather get the bloody slipper." Groaned Crabbe.

Philip agreed. He'd recently taken AB's advice and owned up to divulging the contents of _The Slytherin Bible's_ words of wisdom on slipping off to Hogsmeade (Exodus 4:3) to Hugo and Harriett. Of course, he'd kept mum about the Bible, but he'd been forced to admit he'd shared the knowledge in exchange for having his quidditch boots cleaned and polished for a month. The confession had taken place in Snape's classroom, and he'd gained first hand knowledge of what a wicked implement a potion stirrer could be. Crabbe was right.

However, as Snape eased himself up to perch on his desk and invited the students to make themselves comfortable, it became apparent that they weren't all there to receive some mass discipline.

"The headmaster has some concerns about the Yule Ball." He began.

 **oOo**

"And you Goyle?"

"No one to go with." He shrugged.

"Neither has Miss Hildegard Brand." Replied Snape, "Professor McGonagall informs me that the young lady in question would appreciate being asked."

You've gotta be kidding me, thought Harry. Hildy Brand's about four foot eight and as thin as a reed. Goyle's gonna turn her into mincemeat! Then he recalled how slow and gentle the big lug had been when they'd cleaned the bookshelves together; maybe he wouldn't flatten her after all?

"And why do you not wish to attend, Miss Bulstrode?"

"Not my thing, sir."

"Why not?"

Pansy started sniggering. "That's why." Replied Millicent with a nod to Pansy. Snape never said a word; just smoothly grasped Pansy's collar and deposited her in the corner of the classroom.

"I don't even have a ball gown." Millicent continued.

"Do I need to go and choose one for you?"

"No! No thank you, sir. I'll do that!"

"Mr Crabbe? I believe I've found your partner!"

Vincent beamed at Millicent,

"We'll have a riot!" He whispered.

"We will!" She replied.

Harry saw the exchange and felt a pang of jealousy; he'd promised Ron that they'd go on the hunt together for ball partners. His friend was already panicking over what he'd wear to the Christmas Day shindig, he couldn't leave him in the lurch over the excruciating date conundrum - not that the girls were queuing up to throw themselves at Harry, mind you. But Millicent! She'd be bloody brilliant to go to the ball with! Crabbe was a lucky sod; the ball was going to be great for that pair.

"But why can't we have our own ball here in Slytherin, sir?" Enquired Theo Nott, "The common room's big enough."

Quite a few Snakes murmured support for Theo's suggestion.

"Why on earth would you want that?" Snape asked.

"It's what the other houses would want." Draco said.

Potter wondered if Snape was going to lie to them, give them a complete load of bollocks about how the other houses were really just jealous but underneath it all had a sneaking admiration for Slytherin. For some reason, he became slightly anxious as he awaited Snape's response. But Snape didn't disappoint; he looked them over and spoke,

"You're right, Malfoy; you're absolutely right. Which is why you're all going, and you're going to show the rest of Hogwarts just how much fun can be had at a ball …"

"How do we do that, sir?" Asked an unconvinced Nott.

"By going for the right reason … to enjoy and reward yourselves after all the hard work of the Christmas exams. Which means you don't cling to the sides of the hall like limpets on a rock - and then sneer at people who are joining in. If someone asks you to dance, you accept graciously; you don't make your acceptance contingent on that person's popularity. Make an effort to speak to people who are alone; not everyone will have partners."

Snape paused for a moment, then continued with a slightly raised voice.

"And there will most definitely be no ranking of ball gowns and dress robes. Clothes do not maketh the man - or the spoilt girl."

Pansy's shoulders slumped.

"I know!" She huffed.

"Yes, I think you do. You just neglect to act on it at times."

But he wasn't scolding. His voice was actually quite warm and Pansy seized the opportunity to slink out of the hated corner and stand next to Emerald. Did it have to be a long dress, Millicent wanted to know. No, it didn't. Did the boys have to buy flowers for the girls? Why not, Snape asked. It was a nice way to repay them for the hours of preparation they'd no doubt make. But wrist corsages only; Snape didn't want any unseemly fumbling on a girl's chest. Sniggers shot around the classroom, and the housemaster gave a deep sigh and told them to settle down. Pucey asked if he was limited to one partner only. Snape rolled his eyes, said yes and advised him to carry a stash of handkerchiefs from now on - for the legion of tearful girls he would have to disappoint. Enthusiasm for the ball began to grow and Daphne asked Snape what his school dances had been like.

"Why do you think I know exactly what not to do? I want better for all of you."


	18. Chapter 18

As usual, thanks to the un-named guests that commented.

Thanks to **Hamlet** and **NickOTime**! Always lovely to hear from you all.

 **Chapter 18: The Cheering Charm**

 **Fourth-year boys' dorm, Slytherin House, Wednesday night**

"Where were you all evening?" Whispered Malfoy.

"Don't ask." Potter whispered back.

"Too late. I've asked."

"Snape's study."

A snigger from Malfoy. Potter expected it.

"And how did your face find his sofa cushion?!"

"It wasn't my face that had the problem."

Draco Malfoy lay back in bed and reflected on his evening. No harm done. Well, not to him at any rate. Snape would never let anything slip to Potter; there'd be no tiresome Gryffindor outrage to deal with. His plan had been to stay close to Potter and Granger - and it still was. That didn't mean he had to be nice …

He'd been planning to be nice earlier that Wednesday evening, he really had. He was going to invite Potter to hang out. Snape had done his nut after classes following yet another failed Charms assessment from Goyle and Crabbe. Things were not looking good for the upcoming Christmas exams. The pair had been ordered to his classroom after supper, where Snape intended to instil mastery of the Cheering Charm into them 'by any means necessary'. Upon hearing that, Goyle had groaned, Crabbe had mumbled 'hello, potion stirrer' and Draco had cast his net for evening entertainment wider.

Nott had been in an odd mood all day and patently didn't want company. Zabini was intent on trailing around after Pucey - informally interviewing girls with a view to who would receive the coveted ball invitation. Pansy and Daphne had an appointment with some new eyelash curlers; Draco didn't know such things existed and certainly didn't wish to find out more about them. Tracey Davis, one of the few Snakes that visited inter-house, was off with Mandy Brocklehurst. Millicent was getting all bossy about her book club and the fact that some members turned up to the last meeting not having finished ' _The Silver Sword'_. She - along with group vice president Emerald Sykes - was planning on serving up a good telling off to all the recalcitrant readers. And as Malfoy was one of them, he intended to steer clear.

The fifth-year had their library study; the sixth-year was revising for a Transfiguration test - minus 'Pucey the Philanderer', and Malfoy didn't feel like seventh-year company. Likewise, he wasn't in the mood for the younger years. Having spent time before supper breaking up a spot of fisticuffs between Alicia Mayhew and Gareth Hollander and then forcing them to make up, he'd had his fill of them. That left sad soul and hopeless troglodyte, Marcus Flint. Forget him. And Potter. So, in point of fact, inviting Potter to hang out wasn't merely niceness, it was also self-interest. And what of it? Only craven Hufflepuffs and earnest Gryffindors got upset over the marrying of the two. In any case, it hadn't bloody worked.

 **oOo**

He'd seen Potter leave the common room at ten to eight and almost called out but something about his purposeful steps had him intrigued. Once again, Draco clung to the shadowed walls and followed. Up the stairs, across the hall, a quick skedaddle around Mr Filch's office and onto the south stairs - all the way up to the third floor.

He stayed close but stealthily out of sight. Turning the corner into the disused dissection labs, he had to dart backwards. Granger came out of a doorway. Malfoy had spotted her waving and gesticulating silently to Potter in the Great Hall. They'd each timed leaving supper to exit together and when he'd sidled up behind the pair, he heard Archie's name mentioned not once but four times. Malfoy had known she wouldn't be able to let the matter with Archie rest.

Well, that worked out fine for him. He was still telling himself that he wasn't angling for their friendship; that this was purely a strategic move. Granger was onto something about Archie. A safe Archie meant a safe Lucius. Even without that, Archie was a Snake - and Snakes looked after one another.

But telling yourself something over and over doesn't make it true. It's usually the converse. And that night Malfoy was excited to be able to join Potter and Granger. He could walk in no problem; the ace up his sleeve was reminding Potter that Snape had forbidden after-supper wandering in the further reaches of the castle; the third floor was definitely off-limits. Though he himself wasn't worried; he knew Snape was occupied attempting to drive home the Cheering Charm. The irony of an irate Snape getting snarkier and snarkier whilst attempting to demonstrate the perfect Cheering Charm wasn't lost on him - good old Goyle and his hopeless charms casting! Snape would be at it for ages.

His corridor creeping transformed into his habitual swagger. But his swaggering stopped dead at the sight of carrot red hair ascending the staircase ahead. Weasley! That fool Potter had included Weasley in his Archie discussions. And then Malfoy thought that he might just become the wizarding world's youngest stroke victim. Nothing could be worse than Weasley muscling in? Oh, yes it could! Ten seconds after Weasley entered the abandoned lab, that pair of unfunny and tedious clowns, Finnegan and Thomas, went sauntering in. How dare Potter?! This was Slytherin business! What next? Neville Lardbottom riding to the rescue? Merlin help us all. What's the next move, Potter? The bloody twins getting in on the act? Are they going to bombard the Death Eaters with Stink Pellets?! Yeah, that'll stop them in their tracks.

He'd welcomed Potter into the dungeons … well … maybe he hadn't been hugely effusive in his welcome, but he hadn't done anything bad either. Draco could accept Granger; she was smart, thoughtful and lacked the vaguest shred of arrogance. But the Weasel, Finnegan and Thomas? No. You brought this on yourself, Potter.

Malfoy turned and bolted.

 **oOo**

He paused outside the potions classroom and reminded himself not to start smirking at the sight of hapless Goyle and lazy Crabbe, now well into their second hour of remedial Charms coaching. That wouldn't do. He schooled his face into one of perplexity tinged with mild concern, and gave the briefest of knocks.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir."

"What is it, Malfoy? I'm busy."

Brilliant! Snape was in a foul mood.

"I don't suppose Potter is in here by any chance, sir?"

"Why would he be?"

"No reason. I'll leave, sir."

He turned to scuttle out quickly, careful to appear mortified that he might have let the cat out of the bag.

"Stop right there!"

"Yes, sir?"

Just the right note of timidity in that question - well done me!

The interrogation that Draco expected and hoped for followed immediately. He grudgingly gave up that Potter was nowhere to be found in the common room, wasn't in the dorm, and hadn't sought the permission of prefects to be elsewhere. Of course Draco had quizzed the rest of the common room. They didn't know his plans, though Flint had mumbled something about seeing Potter walking up the south staircase with Granger. But that couldn't be right. Flint must have been getting confused, Malfoy told Snape; that staircase only led to those decrepit laboratories on the third floor. Who'd go there? In any case, they were out of bounds - and Potter knew that.

Snape slammed down his potion stirrer on the nearest desk. Goyle squeaked and the housemaster stood still and breathed in deeply with his eyes closed. The calm he was obviously seeking didn't come and the next second he stormed from the room. Malfoy counted to ten and did likewise. Standing in the entrance hall, he looked up and saw his housemaster's legs disappearing up a flight of stairs just as Finnegan and Thomas descended looking highly disgruntled. What was going on there? Draco had no time to ponder that; he'd thrilled himself with his next good idea. He knocked on Mr Filch's door, told him he was at a loose end - and could he visit with Mrs Norris? Filch was delighted, deposited Mrs Norris into Malfoy's arms and asked him if he wouldn't mind 'entertaining the little lady' while he went and checked up on a group of Ravenclaws, who'd passed his office looking suspiciously happy and spritely.

With Filch gone, Draco almost dumped Mrs Norris back down on her armchair. But there was something about the cranky old feline that he warmed to. She - and her owner - were every bit as unpopular in Hogwarts as the Snakes. He felt Mrs Norris burrow further into his arms. His nose wrinkled at the greasy hair she'd already left on the front of his jumper, but he held her tighter and smiled at the purring it produced.

"Alright Mrs Norris. Keep me company and watch out for Snape hauling Potter down to his study!"

Filch's office was little more than a stone cabin but he was immensely proud of it. And for a snooper and all-round misanthrope such as Filch, it was brilliant for watching; windows looked out onto the great doors and each of the staircases. Every citizen of Hogwarts was familiar with the garish turquoise and orange-flowered curtains twitching as soon as voices were raised.

Malfoy jiggled Mrs Norris up and down with vindictive glee as Snape descended the southern staircase, a downcast Potter in tow. But the fussy feline took exception to the jiggling and clawed her way free and onto her favourite armchair. Malfoy whispered to her from the window,

"You don't know what you're missing, Mrs N! That rat Potter's going to be in all sorts of strife!"

Mrs N chose to lick her belly instead and Malfoy hopped from window to window drinking in Potter's misery. Serves you right, thought Draco. But he didn't dare follow; he knew the likely outcome should he be caught. So he waited a while - and was glad that he had.

"How could you have been so stupid?!"

Granger was giving Weasley a hard time. Draco's evening was getting better and better!

"And why did you follow me?" Hermione asked.

"Sorry!"

Ron sounded anything but.

"I didn't know I wasn't allowed to meet with Harry. I mean, I thought we were all friends, you know, like we've been since the first day of school!"

"But you brought Seamus and Dean! You know how they've been with Harry!"

"I told you they followed me! And you heard me telling them to get lost!"

Oops! Sorry, Potter. Malfoy realised too late that Potter hadn't included Weasley, or Finnegan and Thomas in the Archie business. Ah well, thems the breaks. Potter would be okay; when it came down to it, Snape's punishments were swift but not severe. Well … perhaps edging towards severe … And he had gone out of bounds. Potter was asking for it really.

 **oOo**

Snape left Harry to stand outside his office while he proceeded onto his classroom. Harry just hoped he wasn't going in search of a potion stirrer. Philip Aitcheson had recently 'been stirred' - Bletchley came up with that new bit of terminology - and claimed to have worked out using Arithmancy that the potion stirrer was 4.874 times worse than the slipper. Harry knew that calculation was a load of bollocks, but reckoned it hurt like hell all the same.

Snape really does have eyes everywhere. How the sodding hell did he know I was up in that creepy old lab? Harry looked up from the dungeon flagstones and saw the unpleasantly smirking Licorus Black, the ends of his hair still singed after the mammoth hissy fit that saw him self-combust. Of course! The bloody portraits! And to think Snape had even warned him they kept watch over students and tattled to each other endlessly. That old bastard Licorus had snitched on him.

"I believe, young man, you were instructed to wait facing the wall."

Licorus was enjoying the turn of events immensely.

"Beats looking at you." Harry muttered to the portrait before shuffling round.

A few minutes later, he heard voices coming from the direction of the classroom. It was Crabbe and Goyle. They stopped behind him and started speaking to the back of his head.

"Don't worry, Potter." Said Crabbe, "If Snape's too hard on you, Greg can cheer you up!"

"I can! I'm bloody brill' at the Cheering Charm now!"

"That's great, Greg." Said Harry, "I think I might need it."

"It's alright, Potter," whispered Crabbe, "He's been in a good mood since Greg finally cracked the charms-casting." The whispering got lower, "Extra good mood since my wand slipped and I hit him in the back of the head with a Cheering Charm!"

Snape and a Cheering Charm? That notion mangled Harry's brain. Was anyone's magic strong enough to cheer Snape? And in the unlikely event that it was, how long would it last? He was about to find out.

"Come along, come along Vincent and Gregory, my splendid little charms-casters! Back to the common room! Off you go!"

Just three words. Bloody. Eerie. _Very_.

"Told you!" Whispered Crabbe, and scarpered with Goyle.

An angry Snape was a scary sight, but a smiling Snape was spine-chilling. He skipped around Harry, opened the door and ushered him inside with a flourish.

"After you, Potter; look lively!"

Does a cheery Snape still wallop people? Surely not. Snape looked like he was about to put on a red nose, ridiculously oversized shoes, a curly purple wig and do a spot of clowning. Perhaps he's going to stand me against the wall and throw custard pies at my face? Harry speculated. But, of course, it was too good to be true. Harry would get the only clown in the circus with psychotic tendencies.

Snape stepped jauntily from his desk, slipper in hand.

"Going out of bounds?" He asked breezily.

"Yes, sir."

"A definite six!"

Bloody Crabbe! It transpired that the only effect a Cheering Charm had was to imbue Snape with added vim and vigour. Harry watched with mounting trepidation as Snape removed his robe, did some preparatory flexing of his right arm at elbow and shoulder, winked and then said,

"Worth doing, worth doing well! Over you go!"

With little option to do otherwise, Harry took the plunge over the sofa arm. _Effing hell_! That hurt! He was so gonna get Crabbe. _Shit almighty_! The second was worse! That's it; Crabbe was toast! Gritting his teeth for the third … still gritting … still … he peeked over his shoulder and saw Snape looking a little dazed and confused. Harry realised that the man's innate disagreeableness had caused Crabbe's charm to wear off in no time - and he wasn't a bit sorry about that. The tall man shook his head, eyed the slipper he was holding and looked slowly downwards. Harry quickly planted his face back in the sofa cushion.

"Ah yes … Potter. Where were we?"

"That was number six, sir." Came the muffled reply.

"Nice try. We'll make a Slytherin of you yet."

"Not bloody likely." Came the even more muffled reply.

 **oOo**

The remaining four were far more tempered, but still enough to have him furiously blinking away the water that had pooled in his eyes; Snape and his slipper were indelibly linked to the phrase 'eye-watering force'. He just stood by the sofa, not really knowing what he was supposed to do as Snape replaced his slipper and apparently got side-tracked by some papers on his desk.

"I'm still waiting, Potter."

"What for sir?"

"When someone blatantly disobeys, it's customary that they apologise. Some students even go so far as to try to assure me they'll never contemplate transgressing again - though I scarcely, if ever, believe them."

"Sorry, sir."

"You may leave - for your dorm, naturally."

Snape waved him off to the door that led into the common room, but just as Harry grasped the handle, his housemaster spoke.

"Why did you go the third floor? What was the attraction up there?"

Harry knew he couldn't mention Archie. But if he was economical with the truth, he could still not lie and get away with it.

"Hermione wanted to go up there; keep away from the others. It's difficult for her if they see her talking to me … the girls are a bit funny with her …"

"Hmm. That's no excuse for going out of bounds. Do it again and it'll be more than six … but … this has been a difficult time for you and the way you've conducted yourself - for the most part - hasn't been displeasing. Well done, I suppose."

From anyone else, that would have seemed tepid and lacklustre. But coming from Snape, it almost floored Harry. He stayed rooted to the spot as he replayed Snape's compliment through his head again and again on an endless loop.

"Potter!"

Harry jumped and realised Snape had been calling him.

"Yes, sir?"

"Most students can't get out of my study fast enough. Why are you lingering?"

"I …"

"Yes?"

"Thanks about the 'well done' bit, sir. Erm … could you … umm … could you …"

"Out with it, Potter!"

"Could you say something else about me; something sort of nice, I mean. Not _really_ nice, just sort of nice. Nice- _ish_. Something that isn't clever or sneering, or funny but nasty?"

Harry stared at Snape and gulped. The man was pinching the bridge of his nose and his eyelids were fluttering. He was either about to fall down face first on the carpet, or else pull out a brown paper bag and start breathing heavily into it.

"I …" Snape lapsed into a deep sigh, "Sit."

The housemaster pointed at one of the chairs around his table. But after what had just transpired, Harry wasn't that keen on taking a seat.

"Sit." Growled Snape, "Your backside isn't that sore."

It bloody is, thought Harry. Though he took a seat anyway and waited … and waited. He was beginning to wonder just how disappointing Snape found him; the man seemed almost in pain trying to find something positive to say. After some minutes and a few false starts, he spoke.

"I was not displeased when I heard you'd destroyed the hourglasses …"

" _Really_?"

Harry hadn't expected that; McGonagall had gone bonkers.

"No. It showed … promise. _However_ , I suspect your ire that day was directed at your fellow Gryffindors; you acted on impulse, did you not?"

"S'pose."

"And for that I would have tanned your backside."

"I know I said not really nice, but that's not even nice-ish."

Snape lurched forward in his chair, grabbed Harry's knees and gave them a firm shake.

"Think. Things. Through! What do those hourglasses represent?"

Harry wasn't really listening to him. He was too busy trying not to shrivel up in embarrassment. Snape must think he was the soppiest sod ever. What kind of berk asks a professor to say something 'nice' to them? He couldn't believe he'd done that.

"Think, Potter." Snape repeated forcefully.

"I _am_!"

He hadn't been, at least not about the bloody, buggering hourglasses, but he supposed he should. Snape's face was even more oddly strained than normal. Then the memories came, along with an explosion of anger.

"I messed up and lost points and they all turned on me! Not Hermione, Hermione didn't; she wouldn't. Who's sodding Seamus to do that?! Or Ron? I bail them out all the time. One bloody mistake! It's 'good old Potter' when we win the cup, but make a mistake and they don't want to know you … bastards!"

"Stop bleating about yourself, Potter, and _think_ …"

"I DON"T KNOW what they represent! But I know this; houses are rubbish! I'm sick of hearing about the 'Gryffindor spirit'. I earned way more points than any of them, and what happens? My name comes flying out of that bloody goblet - I'm probably going to die, by the way - and they get the hump with _me_! Know something else? I've spent three years thinking all Slytherins were evil. If I hadn't broken those hourglasses, I'd have thought Archie and Tory and Elsa and all the other first-years were evil too! It's mad! We should all be together, but we're not. We call everyone sneaky or brave or swots or softies. It's bloody stupid and I'm SICK OF IT!"

He gave an impassioned thump on the table with both fists - then recalled whose table it was and indeed, just whom he'd been shouting and swearing at. His head dropped instantly.

"Well done, Mr Potter. You've made an excellent observation. There. Was that 'nice-ish' enough for you?"

"What? You agree with me?!"

"I do."

"But hang on … the Sorting Hat … We must need houses, or else it wouldn't put us in them."

Snape rolled his eyes and let go yet another long sigh. Harry saw he disagreed with _that_ observation and awaited a withering comment. It wasn't long in coming.

"Just when you're in danger of impressing me, you go and say something muddle-headed and infinitely dull."

"How? What?"

"The Sorting Hat. Ah yes, the Sorting Hat … Tell me Potter, have you ever noticed what remarkably accommodating parents Hogwarts has? They must all meet to set a timetable for their nocturnal activities and selflessly only procreate when there is a vacancy - eleven years hence - in the house that best encapsulates their future offspring's innermost self. What other explanation is there for the exact same number of children being sorted into the four houses year after year?"

Harry didn't give any thought to Snape's question. He was too busy sniggering over the words 'nocturnal activities' and 'procreate'.

" _Do_ grow up, Potter!"

"Sorry! So it's all a con you mean?"

"Perhaps it would be kinder to term it a bit of theatre. And houses do serve a purpose. Children are away from their families; they need a sense of belonging, a place to call home at Hogwarts and someone to look after them …"

Snape was actually sounding human. Perhaps that was it. For all of a sudden, the unthinkable happened. Harry drank in the words: 'a sense of belonging', 'a place to call home', 'someone to look after them' and his eyes began to well with tears. All those things he'd done without his whole life … well, a bit of an overstatement. He'd had some of it in Gryffindor, but that all seemed to have gone glimmering. He felt it in Slytherin, but how long before that was snatched away? Other people had a home away from home; all he had was trying to belong and the Dursley home where he was decidedly _not_ wanted. It wasn't fair. But, bloody hell, he hated feeling so weak and pathetic! He looked at the carpet and pretended to rub his forehead, dreading the prospect of being caught weeping by this man.

"Potter, look at me. You are fourteen years old, and have recently been ejected from probably the only place you've felt happy. I'd think there was something wrong with you if you weren't upset."

"Why did you take me into Slytherin?"

"The headmaster requested it of me."

Harry didn't know what he'd been expecting Snape to say, but that answer disappointed him.

"The idea appalled me at first." Snape continued.

"Yeah, I'm sure it did …"

"No Potter. I'm trying to explain something to you; you don't get to mope and feel dejected." Snape leaned over and landed a smart tap to Harry's thigh, "Sit up and listen. I was appalled because I happen to believe that loneliness, being cast out, is the most dangerous thing there is. It can lead people to desperate acts."

"Then why did Professor Dumbledore get me chucked out of Gryffindor?"

"You haven't been 'chucked out'; you've been removed temporarily. But, yes, it must have seemed one and the same to you. And I didn't understand the reason either, Potter … but I think maybe I'm beginning to."

Harry still didn't understand, and, to be honest, he didn't much care. He'd had years of thinking too much in his tiny under-the-stairs bedroom. It was overrated; you always ended up getting sad.

"Have you felt lonely since you've been here?" Asked Snape.

Harry realised he hadn't had a lonely moment. The first hour when Marcus Flint had told him the Slytherin password and then shoved him through the doorway had been awkward, but ever since then, he'd been fine.

"No, sir."

And then he felt Snape deserved a bit more.

"It's been great, actually."


	19. Chapter 19

Thanks to **Hamlet** (lovely comment, and I'm so pleased you're thinking the way you are about Draco). To all the other guests that reviewed - a big thank you!

 **A/N:** I thought I'd posted this along with the last chapter, but it seems I didn't. The two really go together and this one follows on directly from the last.

 **Chapter 19: Outcast**

 **Back in the fourth-year boys' dorm**

Potter didn't seem too upset after his encounter with Snape. On the contrary, he'd seemed almost chipper when Malfoy saw him lying in bed. Granted he winced a bit when he sat up to talk to Nott, but that was par for the course in Slytherin every now and then.

No, any lingering guilt Malfoy might have had over landing Wonder Boy in it soon dwindled to zero. And as they were now the only two awake, he got the urge to dig for a little more dirt.

"I saw Finnegan and Thomas tonight." He whispered.

"Lucky you."

Draco approved of the sardonic tone. But could he get Potter to slag off the annoying pair?

"What's going on in Gryffindor? They didn't look happy."

"Dunno." Lied Harry as he brought a quick end to that line of enquiry.

Fair enough answer, thought Draco. At least I know you're not back to being mates with them. Potter changed the conversation - just as Malfoy expected him to.

"Have you ever seen a cheery Snape?"

Draco laughed.

"No, but Crabbe told us all! Is it true? Was he actually smiling?"

"From ear to ear. Scariest thing I've ever seen."

"Is he still like that?!"

"No. It wore off after about two minutes."

"Bugger!" Said Draco, "I'd love to see that!"

"Not with a slipper in his hand, you wouldn't."

Harry fell asleep to the sound of Malfoy's intermittent sniggering.

 **oOo**

 **Thursday afternoon**

The kerfuffle started outside the Potions classroom the following afternoon. Professor Sinistra had been feeling poorly the evening before, and the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had missed out on their Practical Astronomy class. She'd decided to make up their lesson by teaching all four houses on Thursday night. The decision didn't please everyone. One person was nervously twiddling her hair and fretting over the professor to student ratio.

"How are we going to get any one to one help? It's going to be too stretched up there with forty students." Worried Hermione.

"Nah," Seamus said, "Only twenty-nine, Hermione … the Slytherins will never make it; I mean, the class doesn't start until eight thirty!"

Slytherin bedtime jokes had swept the school earlier in the term and had since been done to death but Seamus was a bit desperate. Last night's rebuke by Ron was still ringing in his ears and the rekindled friendship between the red head and Harry had seen him pushed to the outer. He didn't like it. When he got no laughs, he elbowed Dean, who squeezed out a titter. No one else joined in but Hermione had heard it.

"That joke's been done before! It wasn't funny then and it's just old and boring now."

Though everyone probably agreed with her, Hermione's school ma'am tone didn't do her any favours. The rest of the Gryffindor girls looked her up and down and then Lavender Brown gave a snort of derision,

"Pfft! Listen to little Miss Hoity Toity! Shame we can't get her booted out of Gryffindor too!"

It was all a pity because, actually, things had been getting a lot better of late. Harry's decision to take AB's advice and be gracious regarding his triumph in the first task had paid off. His standing in Gryffindor had improved. The Hufflepuffs had got over their 'hurt' at Harry trying to steal Cedric's thunder and the Ravenclaws weren't looking at him so warily.

Maybe they were just tired? All limping towards the end of term, it seemed understanding and magnanimity were beginning to be tested. Whatever the reason was, Seamus's lazy comment in the dungeon corridor that afternoon began to take on a life of its own.

Lavender, who was extremely proprietorial regarding her ball date, decided to take offence at Hermione's taking offence at Seamus. Harry couldn't care less what Seamus had said, but was seriously pissed at Lavender. The Slytherin girls, led by Pansy and Daphne, were amused at the prospect of a cat fight between Lavender and Hermione and all linked arms and took a step closer. They were rewarded with Hermione snapping at Lavender that if only she didn't devote herself to either simpering or crying hysterically, there might be room for a bit of common sense to seep in. Lavender's bottom lip began to tremble on cue and she looked to Seamus for support. Seamus stepped up manfully and told Hermione she was being disloyal, which made Malfoy explode with laughter.

" _She's_ disloyal?! What about the rest of you when Potter was kicked out of Gryffindor?"

The Gryffindors didn't like that one bit. Dean Thomas 'accidentally' trod on Malfoy's toe. Gregory Goyle didn't really know what was happening, but automatically went into 'minder mode' and elbowed Thomas in the side. Someone called Goyle fat, and Pansy shot back that while Goyle was muscular, Eloise Midgen was hideously spotty. A weak wail sounded and Eloise started crying. She was comforted by Fay Dunbar while Lavender glared meaningfully at Parvati. Parvati knew exactly what was expected of her and in no time at all she made a big fuss about moving the boys out of the way, so she could come to 'poor Lavender's' aid. Truth be told, Lavender was annoyed that Eloise was crying; it took some of the attention away from her own public display of upset and her fake crying increased in volume. It was at this point that all the boys - Slytherin and Gryffindor alike - looked at each other with anxious expressions, threw their hands up in horror and took a step back, not knowing what on earth to do. Lavender's bleating subsided sufficiently that she was able to suddenly stamp her feet, point at Hermione and cry out,

"This is all _her_ fault!"

Dunbar, Midgen, Patil and Brown all took two steps away from Hermione, gathering their robes around themselves tight as if she had become highly infectious. Harry was about to weigh in on his friend's behalf - until Malfoy tugged on his robe, whispering,

" _Don't_! Snape's watching. We'll all cop it if you go blundering in."

The classroom door had opened silently and Snape was scrutinizing the waiting students.

"Snivelling already Midgen and Brown? I haven't even handed back your appalling assignments. All of you, get in."

 **oOo**

Every time Snape turned his back during the lesson, a Gryffindor would pretend to yawn. The Slytherins knew exactly what type of mood their housemaster was in and stayed silent. But it's true that yawning is infectious and one time both Millicent and Theo Nott yawned in response to the teasing.

"Sir?" Enquired Seamus Finnegan, hardly able to keep the smile off his face, "Is there such a thing as a 'pick-me-up' potion for people who find it hard to keep awake?!"

"Yes there is, Finnegan." Replied Snape, "I use it myself - whenever I have the misfortune to be in conversation with a Gryffindor."

That riposte cheered the Snakes, though the Lions' murmurings and smug looks eventually resurfaced. At the end of the lesson Harry rammed his book, quill and parchment into his bag, determined to say something to Lavender once they were in the corridor. Draco was similarly intent on putting Finnegan in his place. The pair shouldered their satchels simultaneously and marched from the desk glowering. However, their progress was halted some seven feet from the door by two large hands sweeping down and taking hold of Potter's right earlobe and Malfoy's left.

"Of course, you wouldn't be foolish enough to fall for their baiting? Let me assure you, Malfoy and Potter, that any attempt at reprisal will meet with my grimmest displeasure."

 **oOo**

 **7.30 Thursday evening**

Snape held out his hand to receive the last parchment of lines from the sulky Ravenclaw - _I am not so clever that I need not listen to my professor_. Shuffling them into a neat pile, he tore them up and watched as she fought the onset of tears. The child was tired; most probably had been staying up far too late.

"Your punishment is over, Miss Hardcastle. However, were you in my house, you would be heading straight to bed. Not as further punishment, but because you need the sleep. You're a clever child; think on that. You may go."

Snape was a great believer in the benefits of sufficient sleep for children - to his Slytherins continued dismay. An early bedtime was his favourite punishment - so easy to administer and it brought such gratifying results. His students found it ignominious and loathed it - always a plus; it rectified any sleep deficit, and more importantly, it removed the source of Snape's irritation from his sight. Had he the power, he would dispense with many of the detentions he handed out to the other houses and do as he did with his Slytherins; force them to take an early supper followed by an early lights out. A great deal of misbehaviour stemmed from lack of sleep; what was the point of exhausting already tired children? They invariably became tetchy and misbehaved further. To that end, he began his detentions early and had them finished by seven thirty.

He stoppered the last phial of the wound cleaning potion he'd been brewing for Poppy - Potter's adventures in the Triwizard Tournament causing her stocks to run low. He really ought to carry them up to the infirmary, but decided to leave it until morning. He was eager to be back in his common room; certain as he was that some nonsense was afoot. The atmosphere between the fourth-year Slytherins and Gryffindors had been palpable in his classroom and matters hadn't improved during supper - with Malfoy, in particular, seeming animated. Though Severus had directed his most malevolent stare at the fourth-year, Malfoy had smiled back sweetly and continued working hard to try and cajole the others into joining in with whatever he had planned. Snape had vented his spleen at that by landing a sharp flick to the boy's earlobe on the way out.

Opening the common room door, he was disconcerted to see no fourth-years. But soon enough, down they trooped from the girls' dorm staircase - each fourth-year looking resplendent in PJs, slippers, dressing gown, and, in several instances, even night caps. Tory, Elsa and Alicia strode up sombrely to relinquish their collection of stuffed toys to Malfoy, Nott, Zabini, Goyle, Crabbe and Harry - the fourth-year girls having their own.

"You will be careful with them!" Said Alicia, sounding remarkably like her housemaster.

It was Snape's custom to issue an injunction to good behaviour whenever students left the house en masse, but that night he didn't. His students seemed to have ably taken care of matters.

 **oOo**

Seamus, Dean, Lavender and Parvati had had a few hours to dream up yet more unfunny jokes about sleepy Slytherins staying up past their bedtimes and were, at that moment, poised in the Astronomy room awaiting the tell-tale tread of shoe leather on stone, ready to let them fly. But the Slytherins took them by surprise - carpet slippers not making much of a noise. Most of the two other houses gave an involuntary glance at their watches, just to assure themselves that it was only half-past-eight. From their watches they looked back at the Snakes. Lavender's killer blow of 'It's a bit late for you, isn't it? Shouldn't you be getting ready for bed?' was suddenly redundant. Justin Finch-Fletchley spoke first.

"Well played Snakes! Well played!"

"Good for you!" Said Neville.

"Brilliant!" Added Ron.

"Your idea?" Hermione asked Malfoy.

"All of ours." He replied.

"It wasn't. I know it was yours, and well done." She answered, as she turned 'a look' on Patil and Brown.

"Granger?" Called Malfoy.

Hermione turned around.

"Insufferable little know-it-all!" Said Draco.

Hermione laughed for the first time that day.

 **oOo**

The sight of his fourth-years padding through the common room in their bed clothes had given Severus an idea - an idea that he was trying his hardest to ignore. It was first-year Elsa Tobin's birthday the next day; Snape had to do something to mark the occasion - her parents certainly wouldn't bother. Dammit! He could feel himself falling for the idea. Those bloody children had got under his skin. Well, tomorrow night he could kiss goodbye to visiting Hogsmeade, Minerva or Charity Burbage, or indeed to any civilised adult entertainment. Of course, if he were honest, he only had himself to blame. Slytherin Sleepovers started at Snape's own instigation - borne out of necessity at the time. The first one had been in mid-September 1982, just two weeks after the new bedtime regime had been set.

The Snakes had returned that autumn to find everything they took for granted swept away from under them. The liberties they'd routinely taken with Slughorn, _and_ with Snape during his first year, were systematically being clamped down on. They still made dubious comments to professors during classes, cast stinging hexes whenever they were bored and disparaged other houses for no reason. But within the confines of the dungeons, life was getting a lot more rigid. One of the rules they found the most odious was Snape's mandated bedtimes. To a group of arrogant little upstarts that had had almost no adult presence in their common room, they found it the height of indignity. So back in 1982, some mutinous fifth-year students had attempted to overturn his decree by flooding all the dormitories, and making it impossible for students to be sent to bed.

Snape's solution, apart from the judicious application of his slipper, had been to salvage all usable bedding and have the students sleep in the common room. That first time had been anything but a party; he'd patrolled the common room barking at anyone who so much as wriggled. But eventually the chafing under his new regulations lessened, the children became compliant and Severus found he enjoyed their company. So, when one of them remembered the communal sleepover and requested that they do it again - minus the angry housemaster, he gave in. It did mean giving up an entire Friday or Saturday evening but, as long as it only happened once a term, he'd make the sacrifice.

 **oOo**

 **Friday morning inspection**

Alicia Mayhew was excited. Not that it was a special day for her. She wouldn't get a Friday afternoon owl or parcel - she never did. In fact, Fridays usually meant getting herself into trouble with Professor Flitwick even though she was gifted with a wand, or rather because of it. Her pure-blood parents pooh-poohed the Ministry's decree against under-age magic; that was only for half-bloods. And who were they to tell a venerated family what to do? So Alicia could cast a mean hex - she'd learned from the best in that department. Her parents seldom took the trouble to explain anything to Alicia or her sibs, preferring instead to express their annoyance, frustration, disappointment or just tedium with their children via a hex. Alicia had great difficulty not doing likewise. And a cross Professor Flitwick invariably tattled to Professor Snape. Fridays meant trouble for Alicia.

But today was different. She could overlook the fleeting - yet blinding - rage she'd been taught to feel for incompetent half-bloods and muggle-borns that had no affinity for magic. She was certain she wouldn't end the day with an appointment in her housemaster's study because today was Elsa's birthday. Alicia loved Elsa. The first friend she'd ever had in her life, Elsa was closer to her than any family.

She'd yanked her friend down the dorm stairs early that morning and the pair had taken their places a full quarter hour before any of the others. As Elsa stood meekly by, Alicia huffed and sighed through Snape's notices, earning a glare and a warning whisper in her ear. But eventually the house business was concluded and Snape looked pointedly at the two first-years.

"I'm sure today is special for some reason, but I can't quite remember what it is." He said.

Alicia nudged the birthday girl, who just smiled shyly and looked at her feet.

"Never mind," Continued Snape, "it's probably not important …"

Alicia could no longer take Snape's teasing.

"It's Elsa's _birthday_!" She thundered.

"Is that so? Then I suppose we'd better mark the occasion."

He began tapping his chin with his long forefinger.

"I have it! Bed-making extravaganza - five house points up for grabs for the person with the crispest hospital corners and plumpest pillow."

"No." Said his students.

"Furniture-polishing marathon? The fastest group to polish every last skerrick of wood in their dorm doesn't earn a whack with the slipper - and I'll throw in an autographed copy of the House Rules for the winners' dormitory wall."

As one, the Snakes crossed their arms and shook their heads slowly at their housemaster.

"Getting fussy, are you? Then how about this? Whole-house Potions quiz, wrong answer and it's straight to bed. Winner gets to stay up until nine o'clock."

"How about 'no'?" Said his students.

"Well then, it's just the dull, old Slytherin Sleepover I suppose."

That suggestion went down a storm.

 **oOo**

Not much was eaten at breakfast; everyone was too intent on planning the evening's activities and wondering how much Snape would let them get away with. Harry half listened to the chatter but was mainly consumed by two things as he picked at his eggs; how close would he be to Tracey Davis as they fell asleep? And what on earth was this 'curtain race' they were all talking about? He gave up on his eggs and sat back as the first-years fired questions at the older Snakes about past sleepovers.

Marcus Flint told of the time in his second year when Slytherin had just won the House Cup for the fourth year in a row. A warm July night, Snape had marched them all to the western shore of the Black Lake, where they'd swum, eaten and lounged under the stars. No sooner had they lain on their bed rolls than the heavens had opened, but Snape simply cast an impervious charm, and so they remained - falling asleep as the warm silver rain fell harmlessly.

"One of the best nights of my life." Said Flint. "I wonder what the rest of them are going to be like?"

Off the quidditch pitch, it wasn't often that Flint commanded the rapt attention of his peers. But everyone knew what his question meant. He'd finally done enough successful project work to be awarded a leaving certificate; he'd be off for good at the end of term. Harry recalled Malfoy telling him Flint's father was worse than Goyle's. What kind of life was that? He realised the sudden quiet at the breakfast table wasn't everyone imagining the exciting future that lay ahead of the dull-witted boy, but the awful legacy Death Eater parents handed down to their offspring.

That brief moment of dread contemplation brought home to him just why the Snakes were so passionate about their house; for a lot of them, it really was all they had. Great while it lasts, thought Potter, but then what? No sooner had that dark thought entered his head than Jemima Deacon lurched across the table and started jabbing Flint's arm.

"You are coming back, remember? You're my ball date!"

" _What_?!" Cried the sixth-year boys, who'd spent the last week one-upping each other to try and win her favour.

"You're all very sweet," crooned the raven-haired vixen, "But I need a real man!"

Flint enjoyed that. Mention of the ball brought the conversation round to dancing and a mini-argument erupted between Pansy and Cordelia Jenks as to who would claim the first dance with AB. Gregory Goyle stepped in and offered his services on the dance floor to stave off any unpleasantness, and everyone laughed. He didn't know the cause of everyone's amusement, but laughed along anyway. The prevailing mood was back to light and frothy, with a fair bit of silliness thrown in. So much so that Harry failed to notice Hermione slip into the Great Hall and sit at the very end of the Gryffindor table, where she spoke to no one - and, indeed, no one spoke to her.

 **oOo**

They took a long time at breakfast and eventually Snape had had to come over and tell them all to get to class. This they did - not wanting to get their housemaster offside. Harry realised he'd hardly eaten anything and grabbed a banana before making his way out of the hall.

Last night had been great. He couldn't believe it had been Malfoy's idea to get togged up in PJ's and go trekking up to the Astronomy Tower, teddy bear tucked firmly under their arms. They'd got some odd looks from the rest of the school on their way, but it had all been worth it the second they saw Seamus and crew. The smirks had been wiped off their faces instantly; that had been brilliant. But even better had been the smiles and back slaps from Ron, Justin, Susan Bones and Michael Corner. To top that off, Dean had come over and shaken his hand. Lavender had pulled Seamus back when he'd tried to do the same, but Harry didn't care. The intent was there.

And today would be an even better day, he decided, as he left the hall to head off to Transfiguration. But walking past the great staircase, he saw the Gryffindor fourth-year girls ahead of him, all except Hermione. He looked around and saw her sitting on the steps outside, pretending to be engrossed in a book but obviously waiting for the others to move on. A pair of black folded arms loomed up on his right and Harry peered up into their owner's eyes.

"I really want to come tonight, but … she looks so sad; I can't leave her alone, sir."

Snape looked at the forlorn girl on the steps and was taken back twenty years. That step used to be his lonely perch, and he too had probably made just as poor a show of feigning interest in a dull text book as she was doing at that moment. His eyes narrowed as he watched Lavender Brown et al look back at Granger and start laughing. How much grief would Minerva give him if he dragged the four of them down to his study and slippered them? He knew the answer. A lot. No matter, he had a better idea.

"In the civilised world, Potter, it is customary to invite a friend to a party."

Then he strode down the dungeon steps at his usual cracking pace before Harry could thank him.


	20. Chapter 20

Thanks to all the unnamed guests who commented, and to guests **Hamlet** and **Slytherin**. I really love reading your comments!

 **Chapter 20: A Slytherin Sleepover**

Hermione was surprised - and a little alarmed - to be met at the head of the dungeon staircase by Daphne and Pansy.

"Pleased you could make it, Gra … Hermione. I hope you enjoy your time with us." Said Pansy.

It all sounded a bit forced, like a five-year-old compelled by its parents into greeting an unpopular maiden aunt, but at least Pansy had kept her wand at bay - and her even more vicious tongue. She took Hermione's overnight bag and led the way down the stairs.

It's true; Daphne Greengrass was silliness personified, as well as being none too bright and easily led, but she wasn't a nasty person at heart. Seeing Hermione's anxious face, she let Pansy walk on ahead and then nudged Hermione and whispered,

"Don't look so worried. It'll be fun! She got herself in heaps of trouble this week; she'll be on her best behaviour!"

 **oOo**

Hermione stood in the doorway of the fourth-year girls' dorm; it was nothing like she'd expected. The wallpapered walls were a light mint green with a vaguely oriental floral design. The cream carpet was deep and comfortable underfoot. The fireplace was decorated with what seemed like a million little stars floating around the mantelpiece. The beds had pretty eiderdowns and everywhere was festooned with the detritus of teenaged girls - posters, curling tongs, magazines, lipsticks, a gazillion pots of nail polish, silk scarves, soft toys and note books. It all looked so … normal and welcoming. Hermione wasn't sure what she'd expected. Perhaps black ebony wood paired with harsh emerald green satin, all scarily tidy and an abused little house elf in the corner poised to scurry and pick up Pansy's shoes as she carelessly kicked them off?

The Gryffindor sank down into a plump, yellow and white striped armchair - and leapt up straight away. "Ouch!" She'd sat on the heel of a pink, fluffy mule.

"That's where it went!" Pansy said as she reached over and snatched it. "I thought Snape had thrown it out; he thinks that the wearing of stilettos or kitten heals is fifteen seconds away from a life of promiscuity." Huffed the dark-haired girl.

Hermione looked down and noticed that all the Slytherin girls had dispensed with their shoes and were padding around in socks or slippers.

"Oh! I forgot to bring my slippers …" she said as she tugged on her laces.

"Well, don't think you can borrow mine." Pansy snapped.

"I didn't!" Squeaked Hermione.

"No one can borrow mine." Pansy continued, "My feet are far too big. My shoes are even too big for Millicent. Imagine that."

"Thanks a million, Pansy!" Said Millicent, who looked at Hermione, then Pansy and rolled her eyes.

"Your feet don't look big to me, Pansy." Said Hermione.

"They are; they're huge. Mother says so. She says I've got my great aunt Cecily's feet and look how she ended up - no man would go near her."

"Shall I tell Snape you're having another foot crisis?" Asked Millicent, "You know how patient and understanding he'll be!"

Actually, reflected Pansy, he had been - so get stuffed Millicent.

Pansy had returned to Hogwarts in September with feet a size bigger and shoes two sizes smaller - her awful mother's revenge for her daughter's feet being so terminally disappointing. Snape had seen her pained walk and taken her immediately to Hogsmeade for new shoes. Afterwards they'd taken tea at _Madam Puddifoot's_ , where he assured her that once she'd finished growing, her feet would be in perfect proportion to her height. Next, he'd narrowed his eyes and made it known that if she was even contemplating something so foolish as dieting, he'd request a wooden spoon from Madam Puddifoot and use it on her right there in the middle of the tea rooms. Pansy got stuck into the scones and French fancies and had a wonderful hour and a half with her housemaster.

A lovely memory to have and Pansy treasured it but, of course, Millicent was right. Pansy had gone on to exhaust Snape's good will with her unauthorised shopping spree at _Fenella's Fabulous Footwear Emporium_ this last week, so she gave up on her pouting and handed Hermione a pair of pink spotty slippers.

"Let's go!" She said, "And Millicent? Don't forget Elsa's present."

 **oOo**

Hermione stood at the top of the girls' stairs and looked straight across at Harry on the boys' stairs. She smiled, he waved, and they both took a few moments to stand in utter disbelief at finding themselves happy and excited - in Slytherin House! Their communication was restricted to facial movements, hand gestures and waving for the simple reason that the dungeons were positively jumping!

Music was blaring discordantly from two antiquated gramophones prompting some quite frenetic dance displays, Malfoy appearing especially fleet of foot. Sixth-year Jemima Deacon also kept time to the music - and did so whilst stood on a table throwing chocolate-covered almonds for the sixth-year boys to catch with their mouths. Hermione snorted with laughter watching Snape struggling to get on grip on shimmying Jemima to lift her down. With no dominatrix to lead them, the boys shrugged, laughed and wandered over to where Miles Bletchley had foolishly challenged all comers to test his wrestling prowess - and was being soundly trounced by Millicent Bulstrode. Though it must be said, he appeared to be rather enjoying it.

Harry jerked his head towards the party, 'Shall we?' he mouthed. But he was too late; Malfoy had shot up the girls' stairs and pulled Hermione down to join him on the dance floor, where Daphne and Pansy were currently being sashayed and dipped to the music by Slytherin's resident dreamboats - AB and Latimer. Harry burst out laughing and leant against the stone architrave to cast his gaze upon all until he could decide which group to join.

Next, Tracey Davis leapt up from her seat declaring she wanted to dance and Harry was suddenly torn between offering himself as a partner and going to cheer on Millicent, who'd now wrangled Bletchley into a half nelson and was pressing him to submit. The fleeting pleasure of the divine Miss Davis, or the solid - in all senses of the word - dependability of Millicent? The agony of choice was wrenched away from him as his eyes focused on two long, black legs striding toward him.

"Potter. There's a twelve-year-old girl over there who's never had a birthday party and is wondering what she's done to deserve it. Perhaps you'd like to explain matters and encourage her to enjoy herself? Something tells me you'll know what to say."

Harry felt oddly touched that Snape had made mention of his less than desirable upbringing; it was so often glossed over by other professors. He was about to assure Snape that he'd do just that, but the man was heading to the other side of the room.

"Miss Bulstrode! _Do_ stop sitting on Bletchley's head!"

 **oOo**

The birthday girl chose dinner that night, which didn't go down well with everyone as Elsa Tobin was rather fond of cabbage. But they still had fun sitting cross-legged with plates on their laps - taking turns to distract Snape so the older students could evanesco their vegetables. Arno Van Den Berg kept them all entertained with a series of very tall tales about what he and Harriett Walsh had got up to on their illicit trip to Hogsmeade. Everyone knew he was pulling their legs, including Snape, but that didn't stop the housemaster from looking thunderous over his coffee - and promising Arno some extended one-to-one time in his study should any of his tales be revealed to have the slightest whiff of truth to them.

At the expectant looks from first-years, Snape plastered a comically downcast look on his face and broke the news that the latest decree from the Ministry of Magic came through just that afternoon: birthday cake was banned. However, he informed them, those that were still hungry could help themselves to all the evanesco'd cabbage that was most probably sitting outside the common room door. The young ones groaned, but the older years knew their housemaster too well and laughed. It wasn't long before the party was back in full swing.

 **oOo**

"Oh, go on sir! Please, _please_!"

Snape was unsure.

"You _really_ want to do this?"

"Yes! It's great fun!"

"What do you mean 'it's great fun'? Exactly how many times have you done this?"

"Blabbermouth!" Draco poked Archie in the shoulder.

"Perfectly safe, sir. We've only had three cracked skulls this year!" Zabini grinned at Snape's look of alarm.

"Let me guess; Pucey was the prefect on duty those nights?" Snape tutted and then eyed the first years around him, "Bizarre children! Right! Fifteen knut limit. Keep an eye on the door, Latimer; if Professor Dumbledore hears of this, I'll find myself demoted to scrubbing pots alongside the kitchen elves."

Then he saw Hermione. She squared her shoulders and looked straight at him.

"What goes on in Slytherin, stays in Slytherin, sir. And my 15 knuts is on Malfoy and Elsa."

The first-years raced to the under-the-lake window and stood next to a long velvet curtain each with their 'wrangler' - a student from the middle or upper years.

"Not you too, Armitage-Brown?" Asked Snape.

AB ducked his head, and then assured his housemaster that it was the perfect exercise for practising wand control. Snape shook his head and wondered just how much time he had to spend in the common room to keep track of all his Snakes' extra-curricular diversions.

Sophie Blishwick, it appeared, was the resident bookmaker. Snape had previously thought her upstanding to the point of priggish. He gave another shake of his head as she called for final bets to be placed and announced that a 'reverse slither' winner would earn a double payout. At this point, he gave up and sank back into his armchair; his house was obviously well-versed in this un-sanctioned sport.

"Ready? Set? _Go_!"

The first-years, who had been hunkered down, leapt upwards. The wranglers focussed furiously on their wands and got their little Snake 'attached' to the curtain. Some, like Archie and Elsa, were spun around 180 degrees so that they ascended feet first. The older students had to magic the younger ones up the length of the curtain using only their wands. Scrutineers watched on to make sure no little Snake was pulling themselves up with their hands.

"Hands well away from the curtain, Alicia!" Called Theo Nott.

Snape, Harry and Hermione looked on amazed at the concentration and effort this demanded, and the three of them jumped in unison when Millicent sneezed and Malcolm Baddock plunged six feet down the curtain. Hermione was willing on Malfoy and Elsa, Harry was cheering for Archie and AB, and Snape assured them both they'd wasted their fifteen knuts - obviously Gabriel Brabic and Bletchley were going to win.

"Keep your toes pointed, Archie!" Called AB, "There's less resistance that way."

Malfoy gave a smug, little smile as Elsa Tobin stayed level pegging with Gabriel Brabic for first place. Four feet from the top of the curtains and he suddenly gave the order for Elsa to peel off her woolly jumper. Underneath it she wore a satin camisole and with the drag of wool against the velvet of the curtains removed, little Elsa shot to the top, bumping into the curtain pole.

" _Yes_! Excellent move Elsa and Draco!" Hermione shouted, before turning around to crow at Harry and Snape.

"Congratulations, Miss Granger." Sniffed Snape, "You must have earned yourself close to seventy knuts; however will you spend such a vast fortune?!"

Two more curtain races followed, though for the last one, Snape banned reverse slithers in light of Elsa, Archie, and Malcolm's heads having turned scarlet with the increased blood flow. The woozy first-years descended, Snape exacted a promise that the curtain racing wouldn't take place again in his absence, and all at once, the candles flickered and went out, followed by the fire fizzling. Everyone in the room felt the thrill of suddenly being plunged into darkness, then a gasp came as through the doorway a huge candlelit cake was carried in.

Hermione felt something brush against her leg and gave a shriek. Looking up at the approaching cake, she saw two yellowish eyes framed by straggly grey hair - Mr Filch! But most bizarrely of all, she listened as he broke into a scratchy warble …

" _Happy birthday to you_! _You were born in a zoo_! _With the elephants and the monkeys_ \- _and you look like one too_!"

"Make a wish, Miss Tobin." Instructed Snape as he pulled Elsa to stand between his legs and blow out the candles on the cake. Wish accomplished, Elsa blew out the candles. The wall sconces flamed back into life and the fire re-lit. Elsa and her crew all gasped at the huge multi-coloured cake, while the older girls smiled indulgently at them.

"Madam Puddifoot's finest," commented Pansy, "Any-Flavour Cake - you point your wand at it and the slice turns into whatever flavour you wish for."

"I've never heard of it!" Said Hermione.

"We only have the best in Slytherin." Sniffed Pansy.

Harry and Vincent Crabbe both pulled a face behind her back and Hermione giggled.

After the cake came the presents. The lower years presented her with a magical photo album of their adventures thus far - Snape _wasn't_ allowed to look.

"You really don't want to, sir." Assured AB.

"Don't I? Why don't I? What's in that photo album?!"

Snape was getting rattled and the entire common room - including Mr Filch - was enjoying his uncharacteristic display of nerves immensely.

"Oh, nothing against the school rules, sir … well, nothing that _used_ to be against them …"

If your aim is to wind someone up, then choose your most upstanding citizen to do it! AB was having a fine, old time. He stood behind Snape's chair and winked at all the Snakes.

"I must say sir, Hogwarts has really changed, so many rules against this and that now. Thank Merlin Slytherin House is a traditional house; we cleave to the old ways here!"

Urquhart joined in.

"That's right, AB! I mean, what's wrong with casting a few Toe Biter jinxes at the Hufflepuffs? Toughens them up a bit; they should be grateful to us! I say it's just a good old-fashioned method of character building!"

"Indeed." Purred Snape, "I have my own old-fashioned methods too, don't forget!"

Snape was wrong to have tried to persuade himself against this sleepover; he was in his element. So satisfying to have once-timid first-years grow up before your eyes and end up gently teasing you - one of the great rewards of raising children. He looked down at Elsa, shyly laughing along with AB and Urquhart; how would she change in the coming years? Then again, thinking about some of his students and what awaited them in adulthood wasn't a cheery prospect. He abandoned his thoughts there for another time; they weren't suitable party fodder.

The older girls had made her a patchwork comforter, a striped and floral affair in silk. They'd scrounged spare Slytherin ties from somewhere and cut them up and sewn them in a checkerboard fashion with something that Snape thought looked suspiciously like the curtain that used to hang between the fourth and fifth-year girls' dorms. It wasn't the greatest bit of craftsmanship - precious few of the patched corners actually met neatly and to disguise this, they'd covered the worst joins with Slytherin school badges. Elsa loved it.

The older boys had clubbed together to buy her a camera,

"You'll have to fill up lots more albums with that!" Malfoy winked.

"And I'll put a Disillusionment Charm on them for you; Professor Snape will never find them!" Said Harry.

Snape let the cheekiness pass - with a cuff around both ears. Then he reached behind his chair to pull out the gift from himself and the prefects. The box bore the enticing legend, _Never-ending Supply of Gnat Heads and Blind-Worm Stings_. Elsa worked hard to pull up the corners of her mouth and attempt a smile,

"I love it!" She exclaimed weakly.

"You nitwit! Open it!" Said Snape.

From the box came a pair of furry slippers fashioned in the form of puppies. They panted excitedly when Elsa pulled them on, whimpered forlornly when she took them off and began tickling her feet when she stood still for too long. Snape found them perfectly hideous, but had rightly surmised that they were the kind of non-essential tosh that little girls adored. An aggrieved face appeared over his shoulder.

"They came from _Fenella's Fabulous Footwear Emporium_ ; I saw them there! You said that shop was banned to all Slytherins!"

"You're right, Miss Parkinson. I shall sit myself in the corner all night!"

"From Mrs Norris."

Filch pressed a huge brown paper sack full of sweets into Elsa's arms. Snape knew they'd been confiscated by the crabby caretaker; the 'gift' probably contained some of Elsa's own sweets. But just like Filch, Snape was a proud Northerner who'd been born and bred on the notion of 'waste not, want not'; he heartily approved.

"That's a mountain of sweets!" Exclaimed Hermione. "I wonder if there's a spell to make a piñata?"

"What's a piñata?" Asked Snape.

"It's a container made from papier mâché …"

"Hmm … that's do-able."

"It is?" Said Hermione.

"What happens then?" Asked Snape.

"Well, you fill it with the sweets, suspend it in the air and bash it blindfolded with a stick. Elsa gets the first turn and then others have a go. It's not as easy as it sounds! Elsa, what animal do you want the piñata to be?"

"Hang on," Interrupted Malfoy, "we tie this thing up and bash it with a stick? Then forget what animal she wants. The question surely should be what person she wants? And I say 'Potter'!"

"Aha ha ha … ha ha ha ha … achingly funny, as usual Malfoy." Groaned Harry.

But Malfoy was onto something. Each person there sank into a few seconds of silent contemplation. Snape would like a crack at Dumbledore - for discounting the marvellous children in his house. Hermione could definitely give Ron a few hearty whacks - for selling himself short and feeling aggrieved far too easily. Harry thought of Seamus - for his mean-spiritedness in encouraging Ron's weaker points. A cop-out, he knew, but Ron was still his best mate. Malfoy wavered between giving Lucius a licking and all the nameless, faceless types that had led his father astray. Millicent would've liked the full collection of Slytherin's worst parents to be hung up from the ceiling, so she could have at them - for a very long time - with the stick.

And Pansy? She thought immediately of her mother, but then got so scared to even think of confronting her that she fell back on feeling peeved about the whole shoe situation. Even though Snape made her feel nothing but safe - or more likely, because of that fact. She smirked as she imagined a papier mâché Snape bent over his bloody sofa and her bashing it with his slipper.

"I wonder if I can guess whom you are imagining, Miss Parkinson?!"

"Too easy, sir! I'm imagining all those dreadful girls that wear high-healed shoes!"

No one's fantasy came into being; Elsa Tobin wanted a cat. Mister Filch took that as his cue to leave, not wanting Mrs Norris to be offended.

At the discreet flick of Snape's wand, sweets showered down on Elsa's second attempt at the piñata. Alarmed at seeing so much sugar-guzzling taking place, everyone was sent off to change into their pyjamas and bring their mattresses through to the common room. He banned the upper years from helping the younger ones levitate their mattresses, and his plan worked out. The effort of levitating counteracted the sugar rush and no sooner had the lower years found a spot for their mattresses, than they were fast asleep upon them.

The sight of sleeping children calmed everyone down. Pansy waved her wand to lower the brightness of the candles, then walked to Elsa, brushed the hair from her face and whispered, "I hope your birthday wish comes true." Snape watched her as he leant on the mantelpiece. Then he turned his gaze and feasted on the sight of Crabbe and Goyle tucking blankets under lower school chins; he saw Granger entranced by the same sight - do your job and report this back, young lady, he thought. AB and Pucey cast muffling charms and everyone moved to the quiet reading area.

"Had fun?" Snape asked Malfoy.

"Oh, I just like to see the younger ones enjoy themselves, sir." He replied.

Snape thought back to Malfoy's energetic dance display, his delight at winning the curtain race and his zeal with the piñata.

"It's good of you to be so indulgent," he said.

If only Malfoy had peered deeper into the shadows, he'd have seen his housemaster smiling far wider than he ever had under the Cheering Charm. Snape continued watching as Malfoy went to sit on the arm of Hermione's chair and Millicent and Harry pushed a sofa closer so the four of them could chat without waking the younger students.

"If you came along tonight to try and snag a ball date, Granger, you're out of luck." Said Malfoy.

"I did no such thing!"

She saw too late the grins on Harry, Millicent and Malfoy's faces and blushed at her strident response.

"Why would I be out of luck? Are none of you going?"

"Oh, we're going alright." Answered Millicent, "Didn't want to at first, but now we can't wait! It's funny; things like that seem to have changed lately."

"Well if you're all going, why would I have no chance of a Slytherin date? Aren't I good enough?"

They all knew she was referring to Malfoy's 'mudblood' comment of the second-year, but Hermione was queen of the poker faces; they had no idea if she was still upset or not. Malfoy groaned and then steeled himself to speak.

"Granger, if I apologise for the offense, can we please draw a line under it?"

"Maybe." Then her face cracked into a smirk.

"Hermione Granger," Said Malfoy, "I am sorry that you annoyed me so much I felt compelled to use the 'm' word. I shall never do it again - no matter how tiresome you may be!"

"You arse!" Laughed Hermione, as she swatted him on the thigh.

"What's going on?" Asked Nott, who flopped down next to Millicent.

"Granger's angling for someone to take her to the ball." Said Malfoy.

"Sorry." Goyle had lumbered over, "I'm already taken."

Everyone's eyes widened with mirth at Gregory Goyle's innocent refusal.

"Thanks anyway, Gregory."

But Hermione wasn't being sneery; she was touched. If only they were like this all the time. She said as much and was presented with a stark enquiry from Millicent.

"When Potter invited you tonight, did you really want to come?"

She wouldn't lie.

"No. But I'm glad I did."

Millicent thought for a moment and then replied.

"You took a chance; more of us should do that."

"Still date-less though, Granger!" Said Malfoy.

"Says you!" And Hermione remained tight-lipped.

Snape was so pleased with what he'd overheard that he rewarded them all by allowing them to stay up beyond the midnight bed-time he'd originally set. As the night wore on and they grew tired, they gravitated to sitting around him.

"Did I ever tell you about the time the Ministry of Magic came to inspect the school? It was back in 1984 …"

Actually, he'd told them the story plenty of times; it was a House favourite. Pucey's older sister, Emmy, was in a strop with Snape and had coated the inside of every cauldron in the dungeon with Bloodroot and Pearl Dust. Harry and all the others cackled as Snape recounted how the inspectors had looked on with mounting horror as so-called 'Potions Expert Snape' made a hash of demonstration after demonstration. His Confusing Concoction turned to a grey, viscous sludge; his Boil Cure sizzled a hole in the bottom of the cauldron and when his Burn-Healing Paste bubbled alarmingly and then erupted like molten lava, the inspectors fled the room.

Snape continued to spin the Slytherins' favourite tales of elder siblings and cousins and the times they'd pulled one over on him. They knew he embroidered the details - they had the unvarnished accounts in the Slytherin Bible - but were more than happy to go along with the subterfuge. Hermione leant back onto Millicent and realised she had a lot to thank Lavender for. This night had been perfect.


	21. Chapter 21

Thanks to all the un-named guests, and to **Fan** , **NickOTime** , **Teri** and **The Danish Prince**! Heaps of fun for me to read your comments! Thank you one and all!

 **A/N 1** : Apologies for being so sluggish posting this. I've been battling 'flu and trying to shake it off before I go on holiday - spent most of the past week asleep. I'm posting two chapters to make up for it (I do like stories to be fast-moving). I'm off travelling soon, so it'll be a few weeks before I post again - please don't forget me!

 **A/N 2** : Do you know the term 'fizzer'? It means 'disappointment' in Australian slang.

 **Chapter 21 - Yule Ball Fizzer - Part 1**

Uncommonly for Draco Malfoy, he was more than happy to linger at the back of the drinks queue without scowling or voicing his opinion loudly that there should be an express lane for wizards of 'better stock'. He even allowed a few merry-makers to go ahead of him - Hufflepuffs, no less! No Gryffindors though, they didn't get to jump in front of him. Or rather they did but he didn't see it. George Weasley was now five places ahead of him and beaming like an unhinged nutter, all unbeknownst to Draco. He had other thoughts to occupy his mind.

Chief amongst those thoughts was keeping both feet planted firmly on the ground - and not sending one foot back in an effort to kick his own backside. The urge to arse-kick had come about shortly after he'd watched Granger do that annoying head toss thing she did, wheel around, grab Krum's arm and go stomping off. _Dammit_! He'd tried _so_ bloody hard at the end of term; thought he'd engineered matters perfectly. As George Weasley did a comedic tiptoe past him, Malfoy stared at the floor and remembered the Slytherin Sleepover.

That Friday morning of Elsa's birthday he'd watched Snape send off the other years to their classes and lingered over his cup of tea and slices of melon; the Slytherin fourth had a free period. Of course, it was 'chore day' for them and he had a pile of board games to sort out and check all the pieces were in order, so eventually he ambled out of the hall. That was where he saw Snape watching Potter, who was watching Granger, who was trying her hardest not to notice Lavender and Parvati watching her and sniggering. Intriguing. Snape flounced off down the stairs but sneaky Draco had heard his indirect invitation to Granger, and here was his opportunity.

Malfoy had had a good laugh getting Potter into trouble with Snape; his only regret on that score was that he hadn't somehow been able to witness it. He'd grudgingly admit that Wonderboy was _okay_ \- but his 'okay-ness' paled compared to the thought of Cheery Snape walloping hell out of him. Still, Draco had a plan; somehow get close to the two Gryffindors and latch onto their investigations into Archie and The Mirror of Merlin - and in doing that, save his father. The fleeting joy of Potter copping it didn't make up for the fact he'd failed to get closer to Granger, but here was a golden opportunity. Bugger the board games; Draco had some thinking to do.

Having fun isn't a conscious thought for most people, especially young people. You just do it. You have fun and through the shared experience friendship blooms. But for a complicated little soul like Draco Malfoy, life isn't nearly so simple. He sat in a common room armchair with a bag of Scrabble letters on his lap, occasionally enquiring of his fellow cleaners how many letter 'J's there ought to be. All the others were so taken up with discussing the sleepover that no one noticed he didn't do a hand's turn of work.

He knew the Gryffindors prided themselves on being impetuous to the point of stupidity, crashing into any situation without the slightest bit of forethought. But why was it they held the Snakes in such contempt? Of course. It was for being unlike themselves - for there's no one quite like a smugly 'tolerant' and 'fair' type to be unfair and intolerant of people who differ from themselves. And so it was that Draco schemed ways of appearing un-scheming. Spontaneity - or idiocy, as he preferred to term it - was key.

Pansy gave him his cue and he ensured he was madly throwing himself around the dance floor when Granger appeared in the common room. From the corner of his eye, he saw her nod in his direction to Potter and smile. Perfect! Then the next bold and inspired move. He caught hold of her, held on to her slim waist and twirled her around the dance floor as well. She protested at first that she didn't dance, but that was hot air and he knew it; he could feel her gauging the movements of his body and finally moving her own in time.

His next bit of intricately planned spontaneity had been to loudly insist on 'the birthday girl' as his curtain-racing partner. The pairing _wasn't_ left to chance. Like all the first-year girls, Elsa had a crush on AB and wanted him to partner her, but Malfoy had bribed her after lunch with one packet of Cockroach Clusters and a dozen Chocoballs. Tall, svelte Malfoy and little Elsa Tobin - prescription glasses, pudgy face and a mop of blonde curly hair, it was a pairing guaranteed to make females melt and Granger wasn't immune to its charm. She placed her wager on them immediately.

Eating supper, he'd asked Hermione to lean forward, so he could evanesco the despised cabbage from Tory Greengrass' plate,

"Keep me hidden, Granger; I don't want to get the slipper again for doing this".

Oh, how she'd approved of that bit of humility! It had been a lie, of course; he'd never once evanesco'd food from a first-year's plate, but who probes that line of thought when someone 'admits' to having had their arse walloped for it?

As usual, Goyle almost effed things up for him. He knew he needed to rehabilitate the reputations of Crabbe and Goyle; the Gryffindors were convinced Malfoy kept them in tow as his 'minders'. It wasn't strictly true, but when Malfoy was feeling bloody-minded enough, he quite enjoyed people thinking that. Still, it wouldn't impress Granger. Once the Lower School were on their mattresses, Malfoy despatched the burly pair to make sure blankets were tight around little shoulders. Older brother Crabbe had no problem; his only happy times at home were with his younger sibs. Goyle, bless him, tried - but when Malcolm Baddock shrugged the blanket away saying he was too hot, Goyle tucked him in so tightly he almost choked him. Draco had deftly leapt into the shadows and tugged Goyle away from the irate first-year. His reward had been a look of almost simpering adoration on Granger's face.

But he was careful not to be too cringingly nice; he still kept a bit of spark between himself and Potter. And Granger even lapped that up, laughing along with his teasing. So much so, that later in the evening Malfoy poked fun at her. She fought back and slapped his thigh. But Malfoy wasn't a little boy anymore; he knew what it meant when a girl did that. She enjoyed his company and she was beginning to like him. He _knew_. So why was he feeling like he ought to kick his own arse?

 **oOo**

In a way, he was glad Narcissa had insisted he come home to keep her company before Christmas. He'd seen Snape's face when the housemaster had enquired as to who was taking up Dumbledore's offer to stay at Hogwarts until the Yule Ball. It wasn't a pretty sight. A few people took note and quickly changed their plans, but there were still far too many Snakes around for Snape. Let the festivities commence! Draco had thought wryly as he left the common room with Millicent and heard Snape menacingly hissing the new, punitive holiday rules he'd put in place.

 **oOo**

Lucius was busy doing whatever it was he did at the ministry, and Draco quickly fell into a comfortable routine with his mother. One afternoon he was sitting in the orangery telling her of the events of the term when Hannibal, the older wolf hound, started wagging his tail; Lucius was home and had been standing in doorway. His eyes sparkled at his son's mention of fun with Potter, but he wasn't nearly so keen on the mudblood.

"The Potter boy will prove a prudent connection for you Draco, but you must take care with … others. They frequently mistake any kind of largesse for familiarity, and that is a road you most definitely do not wish to travel."

Draco had been staring out into the garden as Lucius dispensed his wisdom. He'd heard it all a thousand times and ought to have been immune. Replaying in his mind what his father had likely overheard, he realised that though his actions at the sleepover had been planned to the letter, he'd enjoyed himself. He'd laughed loudest when Goyle had almost snapped Baddock's windpipe in an effort to tuck in the unwilling boy, but the evening had been huge fun. No use telling that to his father, so he sat and silently scorned Lucius. And next he assured him that he held Potter and the other Gryffindors contemptible. Lucius positively glowed at the words.

It was a fine festive season. Malfoy Senior was impressed at his son's duplicity and showered him with gifts and praise. Narcissa shielded him from all the unpleasant visitors; poor Draco had been working so hard, and in a beastly cold dungeon too, he needed his rest. Draco lapped up the home comforts and all the attention. He lay back in his warm bath and, with his toe, rammed a sea sponge up the end of the cold tap - that was apt to drip. He marvelled at how such a large sponge could fit into such a small receptacle. I'm like that sponge, he reflected. I can change shape and fit in anywhere. I can play the fool with Potter and Granger and they fall for it. Then I can disparage it all with father, ape his haughty arrogance and have him eating out of my hand.

And it was no lie; he could do that. However, he'd underestimated how delightful it was to have his father's regard. Lucius, unlike the true Pure blood maniacs of their acquaintance, could be funny and capable of great affection. Draco adored walking the grounds with him - even if he did have to pause occasionally to regard the Manor from various vantage points and listen to drivel about their ancient forebears having built it. He'd take those lies in exchange for the warm arm around his shoulder and being pulled in tight every time he made Lucius laugh with a nasty comment about the Weasleys or mudbloods.

The thing is, these things rub off on you. Draco _was_ good at being all things to all people - sometimes. But arriving at the ball with sulky be-pinked and be-ruffled Pansy, he'd been shocked to see Granger with Krum. He knew she had a date; he could tell from the smug answers she'd given the night of the sleepover. He assumed she'd be going with Lee Jordan, or someone of that ilk; someone that didn't impress him in the slightest. He'd opened his mouth to greet them and be civil, and out had dripped pure, unadulterated Lucius.

"Bringing along a mudblood, Krum? And I thought Durmstrang had standards …"

There was the very slightest window of opportunity where Draco could have passed the comment off as perhaps risqué, or a joke in poor taste. He watched Granger's face fill with incredulity and the next second, in came disgust. Draco had missed his moment, so he decided not to care. A _word_ … that silly cow gets upset over a _word_? She should try living with his father; she'd hear more than 'mudblood' then.

For a few minutes Draco boiled with righteous fury. How dare she get sanctimonious with him? She had no idea; none of the Gryffindors did. No idea at all what it was like to live with that weight of expectation; to have it assumed you would pick up the standard of the Pure blood and continue the fight. The cruelty, the madness … she knew none of that. And then fear found him again. His frigging father, the man he secretly found foolish but also couldn't help loving. At best, the Death Eaters would humiliate and torture him. At worst, what they discovered with The Mirror of Merlin, would see him murdered. With that thoughtless comment he'd undone all his gains of last term; he deserved more than an arse-kicking.

He looked over and saw Granger approach Potter and Weasley; she didn't look happy. No doubt she was telling them all about his mudblood remark. Any second now one or both of them would come and do something pointlessly heroic like demanding he step outside. Then they'd probably do something cretinous, say land a punch on his nose, or Weasley would attempt a first-year hex. Both scenarios would see Malfoy reaching for his wand and getting them good - and then Snape would bloody murder him. He wished Crabbe and Goyle were with him.

" _Draco_! Where are the drinks?! I'm parched!"

The pink meringue pushed her way to the head of the queue and ladled herself two glasses of punch. She thrust one at Draco and scowled. Bloody hell! Even my fellow Snakes think I'm a dick. He sipped and looked over furtively at Wonderboy and Weasel. Granger had moved on, and those two were still slumped on the steps looking more morose than ever. Good. Things weren't that bad; they were feeling as shit as he was and it didn't look like he was going to be punched any time soon.

 **oOo**

Hermione really was mental. She'd just broken off a dance with Krum to harangue them both about treating Parvati and Padma badly. Well neither Parvati nor Padma appeared to be upset - _now_. Pucey and Zabini had just swept by and whisked them both away. As matters turned out, the Slytherin roué and his apprentice had spent too long ranking and rating possible invitees and had been left high and dry for the ball. It hadn't bothered them; they strutted around like peacocks rescuing any female that seemed bored with her disappointing partner - they'd hit paydirt with the Patil sisters.

Personally, Harry thought the alacrity with which the sisters had leapt from the steps a bit unseemly; they could at least have asked if he and Ron minded being dumped. He'd said as much to Hermione but that had only made her give an oddly high-pitched growl and stomp off. It was alright for her. Krum could dance; he couldn't. Something which was made embarrassingly obvious as Malfoy hooted with derision when he took his first clumsy steps of the Champion's Waltz. Malfoy was a shit. And to think he'd actually missed his company when he'd gone back home at the end of term. Missing Malfoy?! I must be more mental than Hermione, thought Harry.

But those last days of term had been so good. Malfoy had actually stuck up for Harry that time outside Snape's classroom when Lavender had been such a cow. Or maybe he hadn't; maybe it had been an excuse to have a pop at Gryffindor? But then he'd been fun at the sleepover. _Really_ fun - even grabbing Hermione to dance with her. What was going on there? What was Malfoy up to? He thought back to his ponderings on Snape that long, lonely night in the middle of the term. His real problem with Snape had been that he didn't know what to expect of him. Consistent snarkiness, even consistent unfairness, didn't bother Harry. If you knew what to expect, you could adapt - he'd done it all his life. It was inconstancy that undid you. Maybe that was Malfoy's plan - be normal one week, be a neophyte Death Eater shithead the next? Or maybe he was over-thinking this? Maybe Malfoy was just a knobhead, pure and simple? Yeah, Malfoy the Knobhead - Harry preferred the sound of that. Ron gave a groan and slumped further on the steps; Harry looked down and grinned slightly at the hideous dress robes. Not that he was laughing at his mate; he was remembering the Slytherin common room earlier that evening.

 **oOo**

 **7pm, Christmas Day**

Tracey Davis looked drop dead gorgeous. The long sheath dress of emerald satin she wore wasn't figure-hugging. All the same, it accentuated her slender waist and made the gentle sashaying of her hips and bottom as she walked mesmeric for Harry. Daphne looked good; not in Tracey's league, but good. Emerald Sykes looked plain to dowdy. It was also patently obvious that she didn't care. Millicent marched down the steps from the girls' dorms looking as if she were about to go and muster cattle. She wore black trousers, black ankle boots, an oversized shirt - the front and tails of which were loose - and a black and green waistcoat. Snape had insisted all the boys compliment their female housemates and it had been an easy enough task with the others. But Millicent?

"You look …" Pucey paused, and then inspiration hit him, "just as I expected you would! Bravo!"

"Great waistcoat. Can I borrow it sometime?" Got in Goyle.

Crabbe copied Goyle, but this time about her boots. Zabini picked out and complimented the only concession Millicent had made to 'dressiness' - the stripe of black satin down the sides of her trousers.

"Lucky for you you're the same size as your dad!" Said Malfoy. Snape cuffed him for that.

Nott raced Harry and won in yelling out 'great shirt!'. Brilliant. What the bloody hell is left for me to say, thought Harry.

"You look … erm … comfortable. And comfortable's great, Mill. It really is."

"Is that the best you can do?"

Snape asked Harry. But Millicent threw her head back and roared with laughter.

"That'll be on my gravestone, Potter! ' _Here lies Millicent Bulstrode, the girl that prized comfort above all else_ '!"

Christ, Crabbe's a lucky bastard, lamented Harry. But before he could rue the fact that Millicent wasn't his date and imagine all the fun they'd have, a wail sounded from the girls' dorms.

"Oh! I forget to tell you sir; Pansy hates the dress her mother sent her back with. She's locked herself in the bathroom and refuses to come out."

Snape looked venomous as he stalked off to deal with that and the others sat and listened to the commotion. An indistinct rumbling told them that their housemaster was obviously trying to talk sense into Pansy, but his tenuous grasp on patience gave out rapidly. He unlocked the door, told her she looked absolutely fine and that she didn't know the meaning of awful clothes, and then marched her into the common room.

"Say something!" Snape growled at the boys.

"Beautiful colour!" Said AB.

"Sets off your hair!" Said Zabini the Charmer.

"Girls in chiffon look divine." Oozed Pucey, determined to out-charm Zabini.

"I look like a bloody pink meringue!" Cried Pansy.

"I love meringues." Said Malfoy weakly.

" _You_ think I look like a meringue, too!" And the tears started again.

It had taken them ages to get out of that common room. But seeing Ron in all his ignominy, had made Harry thankful to Pansy's mum. The pair cancelled each other out. Any other time Malfoy and Pansy would have had a field day mocking the ancient Weasley dress robes. Now they couldn't say anything. Thank you Mrs Parkinson.

 **oOo**

"You're smiling!" Accused Ron. "This is bloody torture; what are you smiling at?"

"Malfoy's just tripped over Pansy's flouncy hem." Lied Harry.

"Oh. Good. Did he look like a prat?" Asked Ron.

"Yeah."

He could tell Ron that hippogriffs had flown in, plucked up Professor Flitwick and dropped him in the punch bowl; Ron wouldn't know any different. His mate had been staring down at his ruffled cuff for the past half hour, occasionally airing his opinion that there could never have been a time in wizarding history when his awful robes had been fashionable. Harry agreed with him. He once more thanked Mrs Parkinson and shuddered at the thought of what Malfoy and Pansy would have said to Ron - had it not been for Mrs P's foresight.

He glanced over at the Platinum Ponce and Bitchy Parkinson. Malfoy had only been back for half a day, yet Harry could tell that things had changed. The Prat had swanned in and feigned surprise that Harry was there.

"Still here, Potter? How long does Slytherin have to house Hogwarts' undesirables?"

He'd then gone on to brag about the enormous amount of Christmas gifts he'd received - and 'admire' Harry's latest piece from the Molly Weasley Festive Knitwear Range. Pansy had come through the common room door, scowled at everyone and stomped straight off to her dorm. What a pair … and he was stuck with them for another term. Yeah, thanks a lot Dumbledore.

Tracey repeatedly twirled past him in the arms of a different Ravenclaw each time. Well, at least he was with Tracey too for another term. He peered around the dance floor for the others. Pucey and Zabini were still charming Parvati and Padma; Goyle was busy teaching Hildy Brand a new dance step; Nott and Emerald were laughing with Lee Jordan and his date. Crabbe was nowhere to be seen, but Millicent was chatting to Hermione as Krum looked her up and down - probably jealous of her boots. He heard Daphne Greengrass' tinkling laugh, and then heard it abruptly stop. She'd seen Pansy looking glum with Malfoy and obviously realised she wasn't allowed to be happy unless Pansy was.

The others were fine, he realised. But what if the others fell in step with Malfoy? And where was Snape? He'd been the one that insisted they all attend the ball. Yeah, he'd done that and then he couldn't even be arsed to turn up. He was another one that changed with the wind. Harry thought he'd had him figured out, but no. He'd been brilliant at the sleepover; it had been his idea to invite Hermione in the first place. But straight after the end of term, all that had stopped. He knew he was exhausted from partying last night and all the excitement of today. And the ball had been a major disappointment, but Harry couldn't help thinking that something had changed - and not for the better.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N 1** : Hope you enjoy this. Lots of things are coming up in the next term, which I'll start posting as soon as I return from my holidays! See you soon (I hope)!

 **p.s.** It's just occurred to me that a lot of the things that happen in the rest of the story reference things/ revolve around things that have happened in prior chapters and might have seemed uneventful; I hope people have good memories!

 **Chapter 22 - Yule Ball Fizzer - Part 2**

Snape refused to go anywhere near the dance floor. Having Charity Burbage in his arms wasn't an unpleasant thought, but it wasn't one to be contemplated with his students gawping at him. No, Severus was quite certain that he couldn't take a turn around the floor without harshly cuffing, severely swatting or hexing a Snake - and then Dumbledore would only come up with some lily-livered objection that he was bringing down the mood. Far safer for him to stay outside in the courtyard and sneak up on any shenanigans that might be happening there.

It was the first Yule Ball he was aware of, yet he already hated the very notion with a passion most people could only dream of, for with the ball had come Dumbledore's asinine invitation to students to stay on at the end of term. This was the true cause of Severus' resentment. Two extra weeks in the company of children; hearing Dumbledore drop that bombshell in the Great Hall had near made him hyperventilate, sob and come out in a rash. He _needed_ his time away from the Snakes.

His foul mood had seen him ratchet up his house rules to a previously unheard of level of strictness, but he hadn't stuck around long enough to see if he'd been obeyed. Any opportunity he got, he skedaddled out of Hogwarts and spent his time in adult company, preferably female adult company. To be specific, female, adult company that was not opposed to the odd amorous and frisky, yet totally meaningless, liaison. There was a lot of that about in the festive season, and Severus made it his mission to spread the yuletide joy. It was for that reason only that the Snakes who'd insisted on torturing him with their presence had a half-decent Christmas.

He'd woken on the morning of Christmas Eve utterly spent. Feeling the need to recuperate, he'd almost crawled back to Hogwarts. The poor unwanted Snakes mistook the vestiges of the smile and afterglow on his face for him being pleased to see them, and Severus was so exhausted he didn't have the energy to disabuse them. This was compounded when he staggered to the sofa and flopped down amongst them. They leapt into planning mode, and he let them. As they timetabled partying, feasting and present-giving, Severus heard not a word. His mind was squarely focussed on the game gals of Hogsmeade; he felt like he'd serviced near half the single, adult population. Not to worry, come New Year's Eve and he could finish the other half. The Snakes couldn't believe their luck at the concessions they wrung out of him, but really, in his state he would have agreed to anything. They were still all up and raging as he limped off to bed.

But Snape was a young man and one night's decent sleep was all it took to have him back on form. He woke to the sound of feet thundering past his door as students raced to the Christmas tree in the hall to grab their presents. It's Christmas day; don't spoil it for them. One half of his brain kept repeating that - while the other asked why their bloody parents were getting a free ride. He gritted his teeth and exchanged pleasantries with the rest of the staff throughout breakfast but by lunchtime, all conviviality had sailed west. He retreated to his rooms for a blessed hour of solitude before the students who had had the decency to bugger off, returned.

And returned they had. Parkinson throwing a tantrum as soon as she stepped into the common room; Bole and Derrick showing hints of the barbarity they'd most likely had inflicted on them, and Malfoy being so obnoxious that Severus briefly entertained the notion of forgetting his past allegiance with Lucius and expelling the boy. He'd decided then and there to confine his Yule Ball activities to somewhere away from the crowd. Neither he, nor anyone else would benefit from close proximity. It had been almost enjoyable; denying students the very pleasures he'd just recently been sampling in such extravagant quantity. Severus doubted he'd so much as brushed against a female thigh in all his time as a Hogwarts student; who were these cocky sods to think they could get their leg over? In any case, they were too young and if there was one thing Snape objected to it was children growing up too soon. They had no idea how harsh and unwelcoming the world was.

He crunched over the gravel driveway and aimed his wand at the carriage door. He'd just sent Ernie Macmillan and his less than timorous date back to the ball, minus twenty points, and fully expected the next door to fly open and Finch-Fletchley to scuttle out.

"Well, well. After all these years, we're together again."

Jasper Flint, father to Marcus, did not deliver well the chilling mix of urbanity and menace; he was too gruff and his intonation was all wrong. Still, Severus leapt back a full pace - and he couldn't express how much that annoyed him. No, this was definitely _not_ Finch-Fletchley.

Slytherin parents were not a common sight at Hogwarts. In the old days, when a headmaster had attempted to expel one of their children, they made an appearance. But generally they kept away. Most were known to Albus and Minerva as they'd been students themselves - the primary reason that the headmaster and deputy were not desperate for them to visit. And during those dreadful occasions when Severus was rostered on to do the Hogwarts Express ride, he seldom met any; his young charges were usually accompanied by an old nanny or governess. So it was that Severus' last meeting with Flint Senior had been as a first-year when Jasper was in the seventh. Or rather, it hadn't been. That voice. That's what had caused him to jump backwards.

Snape had grown to realise that the Dark Lord had been many things - jealous, vengeful, cruel and insane being among his varied attributes. But his chief quality had been an all-consuming paranoia. His followers were never permitted to meet without him; the dark mark allowed him to track their movements and keep check of that. And whenever they did meet their masks were firmly in place. Granted, it gave them some assurance that traitors could not report them, but they all knew the real reason. It was Voldemort's safeguard against sedition in his own ranks.

No, he hadn't seen Jasper Flint at any of the Death Eater gatherings, but he'd heard that voice. The voice that cackled as it relayed the gruesome murders its owner had perpetrated. That's what Flint Senior could do; he could threaten violence well. Uncompromising, no nonsense, straight down the line violence. Severus had been surprised to see him, but he had the upper hand here. He took a step closer to Flint, assumed his full height and remained silent.

"There was a lot of talk when you came back here, Severus. People wondered what you'd done to get back with Dumbledore's good graces …"

 _In_ Dumbledore's good graces, you uneducated moron. Snape took delight in the thugs of the world knowing their place and not speaking properly.

"And the talk hasn't stopped, neither."

 _Either_ , Severus mentally corrected. Jasper Flint looked from side to side and moved closer.

"But if the rumours I've heard are true, we won't need talk no more. We'll _know_ ; we'll be able to _see_."

The Mirror of Merlin, that's what the oaf was attempting to elegantly allude to. Severus abandoned his grammar correction to take control.

"These rumours you've heard … I presume you got wind of them before your charming wife was released from Azkaban? Because from what I've heard, now that she's back, you could scarce hear yourself think. She shrieks, grunts and babbles constantly, does she not?"

"Petronella suffered what she did for the sake of the Dark Lord!"

"And all whilst you sat back in your Norfolk estate. My, my, how chivalrous you are!"

That comment cut Jasper Flint; Severus could see it. The man was a bully and a murderer - but then, so was his wife. It had been a propitious match for each; they adored one another. So much so that there had been rumours of Voldemort toying with the idea of killing one of them. His jealousy being such that he wouldn't brook such fidelity even between his married Death Eaters; he feared it might detract from their fervour towards himself. It had always surprised Snape that Lucius and Narcissa never fell victim to that particular paranoia.

"Look to yourself, Severus! The Dark Lord values loyalty above all else; we'll find out how you escaped Azkaban and we shall tell him when he returns - if we haven't taken action before!"

"It is my sincere hope that we find out about all of the Dark Lord's supporters and so-called supporters. But let me correct you on one thing, Jasper. The Dark Lord is no fool; loyalty is no use to him if that person is weak enough to go insane and endlessly babble names in Azkaban."

Even in the dark of the courtyard, Severus could see Flint Senior blanch.

"Some say your wife lasted less than two months before the Dementors got to her. I'm led to believe she has as little control over her mouth and mind as she does over the rest of her bodily functions. Tell me Jasper, how much do you think the Dark Lord would value that amount of frailty?"

It hadn't been much of a gamble on Snape's part. Petronella Flint had always been a zealous halfwit; twelve years in Azkaban would have driven her truly insane. All he had to do was guess which insanity had claimed her - the soiling oneself and hysterically babbling variety, or preternaturally energized lunacy? One look at Jasper Flint told him he'd guessed correctly.

"But is she so far gone that she's immune to the Cruciatus Curse, a _long_ , _slow_ Cruciatus; you know how Our Lord enjoys those."

And Jasper Flint had now run the whole gamut, from aspiring to sophisticated threats, to aggression, to uneasiness and finally settling on bare-faced terror - just where Severus liked his victims to be.

"For the sake of your wife, I do so hope the Mirror of Merlin is able to distinguish between the desires of the sane and the _dis_ ordered mind. What do you suppose, Jasper? Was Merlin clever enough to build in that safeguard, or is Petronella doomed to be slowly tortured even more? Will he kill her, or will he do as Bellatrix did and leave her tantalisingly close to death yet still in a world of suffering and pain? Were it my wife, I'm not sure I'd have so much faith, not even in Merlin's abilities."

Snape let him digest those thoughts.

"Still, as you say, Petronella made a great sacrifice; surely the others would understand? When they locate the Mirror, they wouldn't place her in front of it, would they?"

"What do I do?"

"You trust no one else. Any mention of the Mirror and you report straight back to me."

Snape received a fervent nod.

"You've been here long enough; take your son and go home. Use fire-calls only to contact me; Marcus can tell you when it is safe to do so."

A chastened Jasper Flint set off slowly to meet his son, but Snape called him back.

"I'm not completely without feeling; I know what Petronella's suffering has brought you all. Should the Dark Lord return, there'll be no rewards for you, only recriminations; who knows what she screamed out in her madness? Tell no one I said this, but break with the old guard; they will _not_ be understanding. If you cannot, then keep Marcus away from them. He doesn't have the wit to keep his mother safe. Don't let him make a vow that will bring ruin to you all."

Another firm nod.

 **oOo**

Snape watched Flint Senior's retreating back and took a few moments to take stock. No one was about; he'd scared all the hormonally-charged students back into virtue and back to the ball. Having reassured himself of this fact, he stood in the centre of the driveway and employed the technique he always used when the complexities of life were becoming overweening. One thought at a time. His right forefinger raised, he worked through his entangled thoughts. One - Jasper Flint was neutralized. One - Marcus stood a better chance now of avoiding the descent into evil. One - the Death Eaters knew of the mirror. How many? How much did they know? When would they take action? Were the Delingpoles safe? Who would attempt to retrieve it? Severus knew someone would come. Would that it were a foolish oaf like Flint, but he doubted that. He needed to talk to Albus again. One - he had to get rid of his Snakes as soon as possible tomorrow morning - before both parties drove the other insane. Another day of Pucey, Parkinson or Malfoy would see him frothing at the mouth and gibbering like Petronella Flint. One - just eight hours, Severus; keep counting down. You can do it. One - when they came back in January, they'd be vile. He had to get on top of the arrogant, brutish nonsense they brought from home immediately; he had a plan for Potter being in Slytherin and he would see it through. The future of his Snakes depended on it. One - he'd been a bastard to those children and he knew it. One - stop feeling guilty; it's unfruitful and disgustingly nauseating. One - by midday tomorrow, be back in Hogsmeade and enjoy yourself; it's the only way you'll get through the next term. That brought a glimmer of a smile to Snape's face, and on that note, he ended his mental audit.

 **oOo**

Harry felt like banging his head, but he wasn't daft enough to smash it against a granite pillar. So instead, he just leant there and silently bemoaned his catastrophe-strewn life. Sod Voldemort and the possible destruction of the Wizarding and Muggle worlds; Harry had bigger fish to fry. Malfoy was back to being a shit; Snape was once again deranged. He couldn't dance - a fact that had been pointed out to the entire school, courtesy of Malfoy. His date had ditched him the second Adrian Pucey hove into view. Added to all that, he was stuck with the Platinum Ponce and The Git for another term - although if the alternative was whining Ron and mental Hermione dishing out lectures for no reason, he wasn't sure which was worse. And the second he consoled himself that the rest of Slytherin wasn't that bad, he went and made a real twat of himself. Bloody typical.

 **Thirty minutes ago**

Somewhere along their riotous rampage of unadulterated fun at the ball, Millicent and Crabbe noticed Potter looking bored and pathetic.

"Where are your dates?" Millicent demanded.

"We got rid of them. Too dull." Said Ron.

Millicent turned to see Parvati and Padma each make lascivious eyes at Pucey and Zabini and set to doing the tango with such desire it caused Professor Flitwick to squeak and call for reinforcements in an effort to bring it to a halt.

"Yeah, they both look like real party poopers …" Said Millicent.

She marched off to Pansy, who was busy huffing at Malfoy, and dragged her back.

"Oh bloody hell. They're gonna say something about these dress robes." Whined Ron.

"No, they aren't. Have you seen how they're dressed?!"

He hadn't, really. Ron had only given thought to his own misfortunes.

"Is Bulstrode wearing her dad's stuff?!" He asked.

Pansy couldn't help but smile as she got a close-up view of the dreadful Weasley dress robes. She should have done this at the start of the ball; she'd have felt a whole lot better about the fairy floss pink concoction she was wearing. Ron noted her smile and glowered. Pansy's satin-slippered toe found his knee and gave it a sharp kick.

"Ask me to dance, Weasley!"

" _What_?!"

"Go on." Urged Millicent, "It's a ball."

He looked with scared, wide eyes at Harry.

"Shame to waste all those lessons you had with McGonagall." Harry shrugged.

"Wanna dance?" Ron asked.

" _No_." Said Pansy.

The red head rolled his eyes and sent a told-you-so look at Harry.

"I'm joking!" Said Pansy.

"Bloody hilarious, Parkinson." Grumbled Ron.

But he got up and the pair shuffled out onto the dance floor.

"Come on; on your feet, Potter. Dance with me." Ordered Millicent.

Harry leapt up but found his arm didn't extend quite as far around Millicent's waist as it had around Tracey's, the time Snape had taught them all to waltz. Millicent smirked at his efforts, and then yanked him closer,

"Harder work getting an armful of me, isn't it Potter?!"

Yes, but oh so worth it, thought Harry.

"What's all this getting us to dance in aid of anyway?"

"It's called pity, Potter."

"Oh, great. Thanks!"

"Can you imagine the ribbing you'd get if you stayed huddled on those steps all night? 'Potter the wallflower' - constant queries during Herbology about whether wallflowers are really weeds and how they can be eradicated. I can hear it now."

"I'm touched; I didn't know you cared so much!"

"I don't. I'd join in with it - but then the first-years would catch wind and they never know when to let a joke drop. I'd be bored rigid by the second week of term."

"I'm less touched than I was." Replied Harry honestly. "Anyway, this won't stop Malfoy being a twat; he's going to be dining out on how I stuffed up the Champions' Waltz all term."

"Well, what do you expect? He's had two weeks with dear, old daddy. Just wait until he comes back after New Year; the start of term is always a nightmare in Slytherin. It's not just him; heaps of people you think are normal come back as arrogant pricks - and doesn't that put Snape in a glorious mood?! By the way, what was he like when the rest of us left to go home?"

"Have you heard of a man called Goebbels?"

"Course I have! My mum's a muggle, remember?"

"Well, Goebbels would have been terrified of him!"

Millicent laughed, and Harry continued his report.

"And then we hardly saw him. Then he came back and seemed knackered but okay. And then this afternoon he was back to being mental."

"He must hate this," Millicent nodded at all the Yule Ball paraphernalia, "he lives for the holidays. Can't blame him really; I mean, seventy kids to look after! My folks are tearing their hair out with three. _Ouch_! Bloody hell, Potter! I know my feet are big but I'm sure you can find a bit of floor to put your own on without stamping on mine!"

Harry looked doubtful,

"I don't know, Mill. They are huge; not sure if I can see any clear ground!"

"Tosser!"

Being with Millicent was so, so easy. She never once uttered a soppy, cloying word; she told it like it was. Harry wasn't sure he'd met such an unflinchingly honest person. Yet she married that side of her with warmth and a self-deprecating humour that was rare for a fourteen-year-old girl. The disappointment of the evening began to melt away. Millicent was big but she was soft to the touch and she smelled good; he drew closer to her. The pair glided behind a pillar and Harry instinctively pressed his lips to hers.

Millicent pulled back.

"Sorry!" Yelped Harry.

"No offence, Potter. It wasn't unpleasant …"

"Thanks … I think?"

"but I'd rather Granger had done that to me."

"I don't know what I was thinking." Babbled Harry, and then her words sunk in, " _Oh_ …"

Vincent Crabbe stepped out from the side of the room and smiled at Harry's embarrassment.

"'Fraid so, Potter. Our Millicent bats for the other team. She's torn my heart to shreds for years!"

"Sorry." Harry said again.

He wasn't sure to whom he was sorry, or what he was sorry about; it was just something to say, really.

"Why are you sorry? I'm not; girls are great!" Smiled Millicent.

"You should have gone to Beauxbatons!" Teased Crabbe.

The three of them turned to look at the svelte young ladies of that academy draped sinuously on the arms of nervous males - not a single smile on any of the alabaster French faces.

"Yeah! I'd have fitted right in!" Laughed Millicent.

As Crabbe and Millicent joked, Harry stood and offered up a silent prayer for the ground to swallow him up. Suddenly Millicent leaned forward and grabbed a handful of his robe. Christ! She's gonna punch me! But she didn't. She jerked him forward, pecked him on the cheek, then sent him back to his spot with a slap on the back.

"I'm flattered you wanted to, Potter. Don't do it again!"

Oh, forbidden fruit! How sweet and tempting you are! Harry watched the hefty pair dance, knocking any weedy beanpoles out of the way with impunity, and surrendered himself to the sad solace of yearning swathed in regret - self-indulgence being a delectable treat every once in a while.

"You alright?"

Ron was back - sans Pansy.

"Fine, I'm fine. That was a quick dance; where's Pansy?"

"Dumped me as soon as we got to other side of the dance floor. Pushed Parvati out of the way and went off with Pucey. I think she only danced with me because Bulstrode made her. She's alright Bulstrode, isn't she? For a Snake, I mean."

"She's more than alright; she's bloody brilliant. I've got to get out of here, Ron; I need some fresh air."

"Right. I'll come with you."

"No! No, I mean you stay here - in case Padma or Parvati or Pansy or anyone wants to find us."

"I don't think they do, mate."

But Harry was already hotfooting down the walkway that led to the colonnade beside the carriage driveway - on his own.

 **oOo**

Harry's slough of despond was only made more profound when he caught a glimpse of Karkaroff walking nervously ahead of him and seeming furtive. He knew he was looking for Snape. It was the only person Karkaroff ever showed any interest in speaking to, though it was seldom reciprocated. He hid the white of his shirt with his cloak and strained to listen to them. They spoke too softly to hear much, but Harry felt a trickle of nervousness run through his insides. He wasn't sure why; maybe it was something to do with Karkaroff? The man's unctuous wheedling had been replaced with a desperate urgency. There's something terrifying about any adult, even a reviled one, being so panic-stricken. And then he heard talk of something 'getting darker'. He didn't know why that bothered him, but it did.

Christmas was over. It would be New Year soon, and what would that bring? Karkaroff swooped past him down the colonnade, too immersed in his own misery to notice Harry. He tried to cling to the teenage traumas of being a rubbish dancer, being the only person on the planet that didn't know Millicent was gay, having a miserable best mate and possessing a gift for repelling female company. But something else was lurking there, and it wasn't even the tournament or all the other things like Madeye Moody turning out to be a scary nutter.

Karkaroff, in some way, was close to Snape and Karkaroff was dark; everyone had heard the mutterings. So what did that make Snape? Malfoy bothered him too; not because he was a colossal shit, but because you couldn't trust a square inch of him. He knew how Malfoy felt about his father. Those feelings hadn't been faked; Malfoy wasn't that good an actor. And that made it all worse. If two weeks with his slimy arsehole of a father could turn Malfoy into such a dick, what else was he capable of?

What the frigging hell was Harry doing in Slytherin? Yeah, he got that breaking the hour glasses had been stupid, and that the rest of the Gryffindors were pissed off with him. But that had all passed; why wasn't he back with McGonagall? He knew he was thinking too much. He hated it when he got like this; everything looked bleak. Talk to Sirius! That's what he should do. But would it help? What could Sirius do? He'd make me feel good, thought Harry. But that was a selfish wish; what if Sirius got caught in the process?

And then Harry gasped as he remembered Archie and the Mirror of Merlin. So much had happened at the end of term that he'd clean forgotten about that. What if Lucius Malfoy knew about it? What if he told Draco to get it? Or what if he told Draco to snatch Archie? What could Harry and Hermione do about that? They couldn't tell Snape; he'd never take sides against Malfoy. And now Harry wasn't even sure if Snape would want to help Archie. Dumbledore and McGonagall would be no use. They'd do what they always did; deny there was a problem, or assure him they were dealing with it when they weren't.

"Who's there?"

Snape had heard the gasp, though the colonnaded walk had baffled the direction of the sound and the housemaster went looking in the wrong direction. Harry seized his chance to get away and back to Ron. Even Ron at his gloomiest was enticing. As Harry crept back, he couldn't help but feel that the comfort and security he'd felt in Slytherin and with Snape had all been a big con. He remembered Karkaroff's urgent whisper about something 'getting darker'; I know how you feel mate, thought Harry. Spring term was going to be bloody awful.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: 1** Thanks so much to Hamlet - your comments gave me a giggle!

 **A/N: 2** Guest that wants AB in trouble - I'll ponder on that. (What's that lovely young man ever done to you?!)

 **A/N: 3** Guest who was shocked by Snape's liking for the ladies - sorry! I'm a huge Snape fan and I hate the idea of some saddo who sits at his kitchen table in his underpants and pines for a dead girl that probably never loved him!

 **A/N: 4** A bit of a transition chapter, this one. There's a bit of repetition to help folk remember where I left off - hope you enjoy it anyway.

 **A/N: 5** For readers in the US, Boxing Day is December 26th (I'm led to believe you don't call it that)

 **A/N: 6** A bit sweary, but we're like that in Britain! Also more and more AU(ish), or non-canon compliant (I'm not sure which).

 **The Curse of The First Week Back**

 **End of week 1, Spring Term**

Harry lifted his hand from the thick woollen rug and let it dangle mid-air. What had seemed such an enticing position - on the rug, flat out in front of the roaring fire - had now become a feet of endurance. Beaded sweat from his scalp ran down the sides of his face and his clothes were now itching him like crazy. And yet he stubbornly refused to budge - because his rediscovered nemesis had just come into the common room. Malfoy was cold and wet, _and_ had made the fatal error of huffing aloud when he saw the fireside rug occupied.

Malfoy was a nasty little tit and Harry preferred to melt painfully into the woollen rug rather than give his spot to Ferret Boy. He pretended to glance at the mantel clock and took in the pinched, wan face. Just ask, you prat. Ask me to move over and I will. But, of course, you could never ask; that would be beneath you. Malfoy caught Potter's roving eye on its return trip from the clock, and immediately both sets of eyes narrowed. The Platinum Prick had been just like his haughty and high-handed father the day of the Yule Ball, sauntering into the common room as if he owned the place and then bragging and sneering like it was going out of fashion. Harry had wanted to punch him.

Coming back after New Year, Malfoy had done no bragging but he'd still managed to be a pain in the arse. He'd switched from being loud and obnoxious to being ostentatiously withdrawn, all sour looks and vaguely piteous eyes. The prat had succeeded in getting dopey Goyle and Crabbe to worry over him but Harry wasn't having any of that; he still felt like punching him.

But bloody hell, that fire was hot! He wondered if his shirt would need to be surgically removed from his back. He panicked that it might not be cotton, but polyester - it had, after all, been bought for him by the Dursleys. Polyester was plastic and plastic melted. Harry knew that, despite the Hogwarts curriculum omitting every aspect of modern life and focussing on the drying and pulverising of the almost-impossible-to-find Niffler's Fancy. A hand landed on the back of his head.

"For goodness' sake, Potter! Is this another ruse to get yourself admitted to the hospital wing?! How much time can one person spend there?!"

Snape's hand moved to his arm and the other one grasped his calf. A moment later, Harry felt himself lifted like a heavy suitcase and deposited at the far end of the rug. Any other time and he'd be steeling himself for the barrage of amused digs from the Snakes - but not now. Now the common room was a glum place. A very glum place. Millicent Bulstrode had been right; the start of term was simply miserable - not that he'd had high expectations after the Yule Ball.

 **oOo**

 **Boxing Day, 1994**

So keen was Snape to be rid of children and soak up the company of adults while he could, that he'd turfed the Snakes out of Slytherin House at an ungodly hour - all back to the families he viewed as having shirked their duty. Harry sat at the foot of Hogwarts' grand staircase and pulled the _Quidditch Monthly_ Christmas Special from his back pocket to while away the hours until Ron surfaced from bed. As matters turned out, he didn't do much reading. He had too many thoughts buzzing around his noggin to even drool over the limited edition ebony broom with solid silver shank that Firebolt had brought out to capitalize on the festive shopping frenzy.

Karkaroff. What was going on there? What was getting 'darker'? Even Hermione didn't know much about Karkaroff; they'd spoken about him. Would Millicent know? Oh God, Millicent! What a twat he'd made of himself there! He covered his hot face with his hands and groaned. Then he heard the scrape of shoe leather on stone and was just about to launch into an explanation to Mr Filch about why he was sitting there. But it wasn't Filch.

Harry's embarrassment at his 'Millicent blunder' evaporated as he watched the stern and sombre housemaster almost skipping down the front steps. Jaunty. That was the only word he could think of to describe The Git. It made him shake his head in disbelief. In fact, so jaunty was Snape that he hadn't registered Harry; he'd pranced clear past him with a grin on his face and a gleam in his eye. As Dudley and Piers cringingly said whenever they pretended to enjoy gangsta rap, 'What da fuck' ?! Why was Snape smiling? He never smiled. Too hard to think about. Harry would save the whole murky business for later.

 **oOo**

 **The Burrow, early January 1995**

Lying in bed at night, Harry did as any good guest and shared a few snippets that he knew his mate would enjoy - Pansy's hissy fits and Snape's sending her to the corner being his opening gambit.

"Sour chops sitting in the corner like a four-year-old? I'd love to see that!"

That went down well. Next, he comically exaggerated the daily morning inspection, and Ron loved every bit of it. Harry told him of the time the fifth-year girls had kept Snape waiting for _a whole twenty seconds_ \- it was actually three minutes, but the thoughtful guest doesn't allow himself to be too preoccupied with details - and the early morning run around the quidditch stadium Snape levied as punishment the following day.

" _Bleeding hell_! No wonder you aced the First Task, Harry; living with Snape must be great training for the Triwizard Tournament! How do you cope with it?!"

Harry almost told him that he hadn't minded the run; that there was something about the camaraderie that had turned it into a right laugh. Even Snape was smirking as he stood, teacup in hand, to welcome them all back into the castle. But that would have spoilt Ron's fun and defeated the purpose of these tales out of school.

The next night, Harry weighed up the pros and cons of sharing another anecdote. He decided he would and regaled Ron with Snape finally having had enough of the slovenly wearing of uniforms, ordering his house to stay put and storming back to his office.

"He gets that upset over a bloody uniform?"

"He's mental about uniforms!" Laughed Harry.

"How long did he leave you all standing there?"

"Not long enough … we thought he was going to stay in his study in a strop, but he came right back - with a sodding ruler."

Ron cackled.

"What did he do?"

"He measured us. What do you think?! We all had to hold out our hands. If he found the slightest thing wrong with your uniform, you got a whack on each hand."

"You?!"

There was an unseemly gleam in Ron's eye and Harry knew he was working his way back into his mate's good books.

"Yep."

Harry glanced at the bloodthirsty face; Malfoy had been so right that time he'd assured Harry even friends took delight in their mates copping it.

"Why?" Asked Ron.

"Shoelaces knotted, not tied."

"Crime of the century, mate! Even Voldemort wouldn't have pulled that one!"

"Don't laugh; it stung like hell!"

"I know. Mum used to do it at the dinner table with her wooden spoon when we started arguing. Hands hurt the worst; you're better off getting it on your bum."

Harry affected ignorance of that. He just about trusted his mate not to go blabbing that Snape had rulered them. If Ron found out about the slipper, it'd be around the school like wildfire.

Another night he admitted to making a prat of himself with Millicent at the Yule Ball. Ron was an expert on being in an embarrassing fix and the voice of experience spoke - and in doing so, warmed and cheered Harry no end.

"She seems decent, solid. Forget it, Harry; she's not going to make you squirm over that."

He loved hearing those words. It seemed to sweep away all the suspicion and mean-spiritedness of the last term. And then Ron undid his noble deed - but not really.

"I mean, what girl's going to admit that you tried to slobber over her?!"

Harry chucked his pillow in Ron's face and they both laughed. Ron's laughter suddenly ratcheted up a level.

"Remember Bulstrode bashing Hermione in second year! _I_ wanted to do that!"

Harry could believe it; there was always an indefinable tension between those two.

"What was her problem at the ball?"

Harry shook his head.

"I should have just asked her to be my date." Said Ron.

Harry pounded his pillow back to fluffiness, lay back on it and thought.

"Yeah mate, you should have."

 **oOo**

The fortnight at the Weasley's was nice. Nice, not great - and nice was good; it gave Harry time and space to think. The end of the year had culminated in such a maelstrom of emotions, Harry barely knew which way was up.

Snape was decent … no, hang on, he wasn't; he was a bad-tempered curmudgeon with tyrannical tendencies. Next, he was a bit distant, but sort of okay. _Wait_! He was back to being a bastard. Same with Malfoy - he blossomed into someone semi-decent … and just as soon, pulled his cloak of 'arrogant prickiness' around him again. Harry was jacked off with the pair of them. Jacked off and stuck with them for another term.

He was stuck with Pansy too - and she'd shown herself to be a tantrum-prone brat yet again. All that fuss over a dress, and actually it wasn't that bad; it had suited her hair and complexion. Zabini and Pucey had smarmed their way into snaffling his and Ron's dates; some great housemates they were. But hang on, no. He drew the line at pretending to be offended by that. Sitting with the Patil sisters had been grim beyond belief; he'd been glad to be shot of them. The one he'd wanted to be with was Millicent. _Millicent_! Bloody hell! She must think he was a complete numbskull.

Mrs Weasley descended The Burrow's crooked staircase looking a bit smug. She'd finally succeeded in getting Ron to sort out his old clothes to give to his cousins.

"Leave Ronnie alone a little while, will you dear? He'll never sort out those old bits and bobs if he has you to talk to. Nice cup of tea?"

Harry declined the offer and took the opportunity to go for a stroll. Outside was one of those conundrums that winter sometimes throws up - so cold that the weak winter sun hadn't made an impression on the layer of frost, yet its bone-chilling intensity numbed the body and fooled it into believing it wasn't cold at all. No matter, Molly Weasley wasn't fooled. She came clattering out through the kitchen door and threw a garish crocheted blanket around Harry's shoulders. He loved it when she did things like that. He would have loved it even more if he could grumble about it like Ron and his brothers did. But he couldn't do that; he wasn't family - no matter what Mrs Weasley said. He thanked her politely and then went to sit under the bare branches of an oak tree. A bit of distance made thinking so much easier.

The white of the frost all around and the smell of crisp, winter air reminded him of that afternoon by the lake with Millicent. As ever, Millicent Bulstrode was his touchstone and he thought back to the Yule Ball and her words on Snape, " _he lives for the holidays. Can't blame him really; I mean, seventy kids to look after! My folks are tearing their hair out with three._ " Snape _had_ been barmy - first despotic, then aloof. Well, of course he was; he needed to get away, too. Harry had no idea what he did when the students weren't around and he really didn't want to, but he would concede that Snape needed time alone.

If only he could be sure that it was time alone that Snape was after. Though he hadn't heard much of Snape and Karkaroff's conversation, something had given him a bad feeling. He thought he'd become accustomed to Snape's weirdness over the course of the first term. No one who was truly malevolent would act in such an unfriendly, mean manner. They'd try to mask it by being decent and upstanding; wouldn't they? Unless … unless it was a double bluff. Yeah! Snape was an evil bastard, who acted like an evil bastard so Harry would assume he was bluffing and think he was really a decent person to cover up the fact that he really and truly was an evil bastard. Oh sodding hell! This all made Harry's head hurt! He moved on to the next bastard on his list.

Malfoy had been a shit, but what did Harry expect? Since when was Draco Malfoy the epitome of decency and fair play? Maybe Millicent was right and it was the 'Lucius effect'. That was a hard one. Maybe Malfoy only had a hope of decency when there was sufficient distance from his dad, which meant matters would always be murky - unless Lucius Malfoy conveniently dropped dead.

But this was sweating the small stuff. Harry didn't really worry that Snape might be unfair and Malfoy mean; he'd had three years of that and another term wouldn't be the end of the world. His main worry was about Archie and the Mirror of Merlin. He needed to think carefully about that but even the icy air whistling around his ears wasn't sufficient to clear his head and miraculously plant a plan of action there. Yeah, he knew about the mirror, though precious little else. Who would try to steal it? When would they try? How would they try? He didn't know. He didn't have the first bloody clue.

He and Hermione were on their own. Right, that settled it. An inkling of a plan was forming. He was a week late for New Year's resolutions, but he'd give it a bash all the same. Harry stood, checked no one was watching him and made his solemn resolutions to the oak tree. One: trust Hermione to do what she did best. She'd discovered the mirror and if Harry knew his friend, she'd be working like mad to find out more. Two: stay on the right side of Snape. No getting into trouble because any curtailment of his movements would mean he couldn't keep an eye on Archie - and he needed to be ultra-vigilant regarding the first-year. Three: rise above Malfoy and don't get sucked in the second he seems normal. Who knew what he'd tell his father?

So, just to recap, he wasn't going to put a toe out of line. He wasn't a bloody six-year-old, after all. He didn't go around getting into trouble _all_ the time, did he? Yeah, you do; you're talking shit, he told himself. But he was fourteen. Surely he could stay on the straight and narrow for one term?! Doubts lurked at the back of his mind, but he ignored them. He could and would do this. Which meant he had to put some distance between himself and the other Snakes; there was always someone dreaming up a bit of nonsense - and Snape seemed to have an unerring ability to catch wind of it.

Despite sharing a dorm, steering clear of Malfoy probably wouldn't be that difficult. He'd reverted to being his awful, supercilious self at Christmas. Most likely he'd spend the rest of the term still looking down his nose at Harry. There was a tiny bit of Harry that mourned that. He'd enjoyed getting closer to the Platinum Ponce - not that he was about to admit that to another living soul. Forget fun; it was all head down and surreptitious eyes trained on Archie. It looked set to be a hugely boring term …

 **oOo**

He hadn't even started the term before he broke one of his resolutions.

"So good of you to turn up."

Snape cut him off before he could get a word out.

"Am I meant to be grateful that your thoughtlessness only extended as far as worrying your professors and not damaging school property? You had two full weeks to get yourself organised; I see no good reason whatsoever for coming back late."

Harry bit his tongue and glowered at Snape's study floor. He really wanted to tell The Git that no one had been worried because Mrs Weasley had contacted Dumbledore and explained the situation. Ron's uniform had got mixed up with his old clothes and inadvertently been sent off to his cousins in Norfolk. By the time this had been discovered, the Hogwarts Express had left King's Cross and was chuffing its way through the Yorkshire Dales. Arthur had brought them in his Ford Anglia - the Whomping Willow had _not_ been harmed. Snape must have known this; he was just being a git. Well, Harry wasn't taking the bait.

"This sulking of yours is not endearing you to me."

Good, thought Harry; I couldn't imagine anything worse.

"You will be in bed at nine o'clock _after_ having written two feet of lines. Dismissed."

Snape flicked his wand and the parchment bearing the punishment line flew towards Harry. He angrily snatched it and stomped from the room.

 **oOo**

Not one person smirked when he trudged in and started writing the lines. He realised then that something had happened while Ron had been fannying around looking for his uniform. He asked a few people but the answer was the same from everyone - the same answer _and_ frustratingly short on details: 'usual Slytherin start to the term' people had said, sighed and moved away.

Going to bed insultingly early meant he'd been able to nab Archie along the dorm corridor and glean more details. Apparently, Nigel Blakemore had started teasing Astoria Greengrass on the way from Hogsmeade station. Bertie Hobbs had joined in and it had grown nasty: they'd pushed her around and ended up chucking her pet rat, Billingsby, into the Black Lake. Like all rats, Billingsby was a good swimmer but it didn't stop the first-year from bawling her eyes out and then casting an - admittedly lame - hex at Nigel. Professor Sprout had caught the end of the trouble and been as upset as Astoria. She took all of them immediately down to Snape's office.

So it wasn't just Malfoy and Parkinson that turned into prats - or worse - after they'd been home. Well, Millicent had warned him when they'd been shuffling around the dance floor on Christmas night, ' _the start of term is always a nightmare in Slytherin. It's not just him; heaps of people you think are normal come back as arrogant pricks_ '. She was right. Funny thing was he really liked Bertie Hobbs and Blakemore was okay, too. Bloody hell, he could only imagine how mental Snape went when he found out they'd bullied a first-year, and a girl at that. The next day he tried to get some details from Millicent as she was hotfooting it to Ravenclaw Tower.

"Where were you anyway?" She'd asked him.

"Bit of a stuff up … missed the train."

"Look, it was just two fifth-years forgetting they were back here and acting out the nastiness of their parents. And Astoria was being completely over the top; that rat of hers was never in any danger. You know, you're lucky you were late back. I think I can safely say that the Slytherin term got off to its usual shitty start - arguments galore on the train, pushing and scuffling getting off, whispered threats on the way to the castle and then Sprout catching people being awful."

"What did Snape do?" Asked Harry with grim fascination - he felt like Ron.

"He … well … let's just sat he was very 'Snape-like', but more so. This time it was in the common room in front of the whole house. Great way to start the term, isn't it? God! How I hate those bloody parents!"

Millicent hadn't broken stride all the time she was speaking and Harry was having to scamper down the corridor to keep up with her.

"You can come with me if you like, but I'm late to meet Marietta so either get a move on or go back to the common room."

He declined the blunt invitation; he wanted to stick to his guns and keep watch on Archie. One of his resolutions had to work out. Millicent was right, though; even on the short walk to the common room the atmosphere was palpable. So this was Slytherin life at the start of term. No smiles of greeting, just terse nods of acknowledgement before faces again drooped. What went on in those Death Eater homes?

 **oOo**

 **End of week 1, Spring Term**

Harry was still lying where Snape had dumped week feels like it's lasted seven months, thought Harry. It wasn't just Malfoy being a self-indulgent misery; the entire house was sullen - or absent, like Millicent. She'd declared herself 'incommunicado', which meant she beetled off to her friends in Ravenclaw at every opportunity. She'd let it be known she'd return once all the ' _sturm und drang'_ had dissipated. Like-minded souls - those that had normal families - had copied her example. So Harry was left with the Death Eater offspring hard cases. Thanks a bunch Millicent.

He looked around the common room at all the miserable faces. It was only quarter to five, yet he felt like going to bed. Conversations were forced; there was a brittle edge to the air. It felt like a Dementor had come in and sucked all the fun out of the house. Maybe he'd been correct on Christmas night? Maybe things really had changed? A large, smooth hand landed on his shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. The squeeze told him it wasn't Snape.

"They'll all come around soon." Reassured AB.

"I doubt it. Everything's changed."

"Rubbish! Why do you say that? Just about every term starts off like this. Someone does something mean or stupid, Snape gets stuck into them and we all remember that he means business. _And_ what this house is all about."

Harry felt a little hopeful. He might have decided to distance himself from the Snakes, but that was never going to work. He lived here with them; they _had_ to get along. AB gave another squeeze.

"We're hardy souls here in Slytherin, Potter. We bounce back; Snape's made us that way! Now go and talk to Malfoy. You've got another term with him and it'll seem like an eternity if you're sniping all the time."

The head prefect pointed towards the card table, where Malfoy was now playing Solitaire, and pulled him up. Harry didn't want to speak to Malfoy - mainly because he realised his resolutions were crumbling faster than a gambling-addicted, overweight smoker's on the second of January. But there was a steel edge to AB. It wouldn't do to discount his advice. After a gentle shove from the head prefect, Harry sidled up to the card table.

"How was New Year?"

"We went to the Seymours, but I doubt you know them." Sniffed The Platinum One.

Are they Death Eaters too, Harry almost asked. But AB was watching, so he didn't.

"Good time?"

Malfoy laid down the King of Clubs and paused.

"Rotten." He said in a near whisper.

Images of the past week flashed through Harry's mind. He saw Malfoy looking at the bedside photo of Lucius. He hadn't been admiring it. He'd winced at it. Harry could see that now. And he didn't need to ask why; it was written all over Malfoy's face. His time at home had been fraught. No doubt Lucius had lost his paternal pride and was back to being disappointed in his son. The Dursleys were amateurs, he realised; if you wanted to really mess someone up, you didn't just neglect them, you fawned over them one minute and mistreated them the next. Resolution #3 was teetering on the edge. He kneed Malfoy in the hip and the resolution went tumbling.

"Things could be worse … least it was Blakemore and Hobbs and not you." He winked.

"No." Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Not this term."

' _This_ ' term? Thought Harry.

"Details." He demanded.

"Get stuffed." Replied Malfoy.

"Last year!" Millicent, who'd returned, looked set to spill the beans.

"Shut it, Millicent." Said Malfoy. "Or I'll tell him about after the Duelling Club. Did you know Millicent yodels when she's being …"

"I do not!" Interrupted Millicent.

"Oh, you do Milly!"

Pansy had edged herself into the conversation. She plucked the deck of cards out of Draco's hand and began laying them down.

"I just don't get as much practice as some when it comes to getting whacked!"

Millicent eyed Draco and Pansy meaningfully, but Pansy took the comment as only pertaining to Malfoy.

"That's true." Agreed Pansy, "And don't forget the beginning of last term too, Draco!"

"Definitely details!" Demanded Harry.

If Malfoy didn't tell him, he knew the others would.

"Snape wasn't too impressed when Moody dragged me down to see him."

"A bit of an understatement!" Zabini had joined them.

"When you tried to hex me?"

"I didn't 'try'!" Protested Malfoy, "It was a warning shot. I missed on purpose!"

"Bollocks you did!"

Harry would have expected Malfoy to be outraged, but though he tried to scowl, Harry could see his lips quirking into a smile.

"Do you know …" Began Zabini slowly.

"Know what?" Asked everyone else.

"I've just been rummaging through my case …"

"My God! That's scintillating, Zabini!" Adrian Pucey had pulled up a chair.

"And …" Continued Zabini.

"Yes?" Asked everyone.

"And … I found … these. Don't know how they got there!"

He pulled from his pocket two packs of Dunhill cigarettes. Five minutes later and they all raced to the disused tool shed off the path that led to the Whomping Willow. Harry had no interest in cigarettes; the smell reminded him of Uncle Vernon's hideous golf club cronies and he happily took watch with non-smoker Tracey as the others merrily puffed away. Out of nowhere, he began to laugh.

" _What_?!" Asked Tracey.

"Me! I'm laughing at me! I was convinced term was going to be awful, so I made a plan to make it bearable. I was going to keep away from everyone and do exactly what Snape told me to do. I was going to make sure there wasn't even a possibility I'd get into trouble. Now I'm having a laugh standing outside in the freezing cold while those berks pretend they're lifelong smokers! Snape's probably going to smell it on them; we'll all get clobbered … and … and I don't care!"

Tracey and Harry peaked through the broken window and saw the resident 'sophisticates' attempt smoking. Not a single one of them was inhaling, though quite a few were spluttering and growing red in the face.

"You know what I think?" Said Tracey, "It's not really what you do; it's doing it together that's the important thing."

Tracey Davis, thought Harry, was beautiful _and_ wise, and if that icy, Arctic wind hadn't been whipping around his ears, he might have swooned. He mentally stomped on his resolutions. No, Archie and the problematic mirror weren't forgotten- but there was always another way around things.


	24. Chapter 24

Thanks for guests for the reviews. **Hamlet** \- I'm beginning to think you have spyware on my computer! You'll see what I mean in a few chapters!

 **A/N 1:** I'm posting this in a rush without proofreading. Apologies in advance for any mistakes. Hope you enjoy it.

 **Chapter 24 - The Durmstrang Fiasco**

 **Fourth-Year Boys' dorm**

"Pansy's going to make us pay so badly for this," Said Malfoy.

"You're forgetting Millicent." Said Crabbe.

At Crabbe's reminder, all six boys put their heads in their hands and groaned. Next, the highly efficient Slytherin intra-house spy network informed them Snape was dispensing justice to the girls for the 'Durmstrang Fiasco'. The newsfeed kept coming.

"Four for Millicent." Reported third-year Hugo Lampeter.

"Medium by the sounds." Judged Philip Aitcheson.

"And four for Pansy." Called Archie down the corridor. "Ouch! Firm; she howled!"

"Nah … same as Millicent." Over-ruled Philip, "Pansy's just a sook."

"Two for the rest."

"Well, they didn't really do anything. They didn't snitch; that was all. Snape's going through the motions."

Sniggers erupted down the length of the corridor.

"What are Draco and Harry going to get?!"

What indeed? Harry hadn't heard a word of the newsfeed. He was too busy padding in circles around the carpeted floor of the dormitory. It dawned on him that he hadn't stopped to think about anything that night, or yesterday. He'd just gone haring off - with Malfoy of all people. Was it worth all the trouble he'd caused?

"Clear off, you lot - unless you want to join these berks in here!"

AB gave Hugo Lampeter a gentle cuff and then leant against the door frame.

"Excellent work, Potter and Malfoy! I hope it was worth it!"

 **Slytherin Common Room, One Night Prior**

"Will you stop that incessant picking?!" Thundered Snape.

"I have to get the lint off!" Whined Pansy, "It's the wool; it attracts everything … _Sir_?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. He knew that wheedling tone.

"I've been thinking …" Said Pansy, easing herself onto the arm of the sofa beside Snape. "Do you know, sir, that silk is just as strong and warm as wool?"

"Is it indeed?" Replied an unimpressed Snape.

"Yes!"

Pansy warmed to her theme,

"And in the long run sir, it's a lot more economical …"

"I knew it!" Called out Pucey, "Pansy's jealous of the Beauxbatons' uniform!"

Hoots of laughter sounded around the common room and Pansy leapt up from the sofa arm.

"I'm not jealous of _them_! It's just that their uniform is more sensible; that's all."

"Stop your finagling, Miss Parkinson. The uniform is not changing. And whilst on the subject of uniforms, you will kindly stop rolling up your skirt at the waist. The hem is to be at your knee, or below."

Millicent gave an inelegant snort at the sight of huffing Pansy forced to yank down her skirt. Pansy bristled.

"Sorry sir. I shouldn't set a bad example."

Everyone, including Snape, tilted their heads in alarm. Pansy Parkinson was never this contrite after being scolded.

"Others may try to copy me," She continued, looking firmly at Millicent, "and those others certainly don't have the legs for short skirts. It could cause some quite awful sights!"

"I'm _wounded_! I've invested my whole life into what other people think of my legs!" Scoffed Millicent.

"Miss Parkinson …" Drawled Snape, who was now himself brushing at non-existent lint on his thighs, "Do you remember what I used to do when you made such nasty comments as a lower school student? Because I remember very clearly!"

So too did Pansy. She looked at her housemaster's lap and quailed.

"Pansy's getting whacked!" Taunted Zabini and, for once, Snape permitted the taunting.

"I'm so sorry Millicent! I didn't mean it. I _really_ didn't!"

"Apology accepted."

Assured she wasn't about to suffer an ignominious fate, Pansy wandered over to the large mirror near the entrance to sigh loudly and reflect that wearing a woollen knee-length skirt made her 'look like a nun'. Snape regarded her, shook his head and returned to puzzling over the riddle Elsa Tobin had posed him - _what begins and ends with an 'e' and contains only one letter_?

Harry slumped down next to Millicent, annoyed she'd let Pansy off the hook so easily.

"How can you put up with her? The things she says are mean!"

"I wouldn't trade places with Pansy Parkinson for all the gold in Gringott's. Imagine having parents that are furious with you for getting good marks because it may put off an 'eligible suitor'? Being told your only worth is in attracting a rich husband? Being scared to ride your broom because it may leave you with callouses on your hands - which your bitch of a mother would spot instantly and then make your life a misery? You won't have noticed this, but her outbursts and tantrums always coincide with an owl, or howler, from home. I bet that evil cow's been screeching at her that the Beauxbatons girls will snare all the best boys. No thank you. Pansy has enough on her plate without the rest of us turning on her. Besides, do you really think Snape lets her get away with too much?!"

"Umm … probably not. Her parents … were they …?"

"Voldemort supporters? Oh, we all are in Slytherin; you know that!" Snorted Millicent.

Then she lost the fleeting antipathy and grew more serious.

"Actually, I don't think so. They were worse than that. They made a point of 'not getting involved'. Positioned themselves on the sidelines cleverly - always ready to snatch some spoils from a ruined opponent of Voldemort and later, from a disgraced supporter. Let me tell you something," Her voice grew to a whisper, "the world is a messed up place. Black and white both terrify me, but 'grey' hides a multitude of sins …"

"And talking of sins …" Adrian Pucey had slid silently onto the sofa, "They do not pass onto the children. As we're getting so terribly serious here, may I just say that apart from you, dear Harry, the children of Voldemort's supporters were the ones that suffered most. Their parents might not have died, but they changed beyond recognition - grew cruel, cynical and unloving."

Pucey had shared his upbringing with Harry; the sixth-former knew what he was talking about. The trio looked absently around the common room until Millicent broke the quiet.

"In any case, you're discounting Pansy without really giving her a go - and that's not allowed. She can be kind, and fun. And if she says something frigging idiotic, just tell her off, or laugh it off; that's what we all do. Go on," She urged, "Call her over."

He did, and Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle tagged along with her. Daphne, Emerald and Tracey spotted them all together and wandered over too.

"Well, as this is almost a full complement of fourth-years, I'll skedaddle." Said Pucey.

His place was taken immediately by Zabini.

"We're not all here." Noticed Tracey, "Where's Theo?"

Theodore Nott had been one of the 'Glum Brigade' that first week of term. Well, sort of. It was always a bit hard to tell with Theo. He was a quiet boy. At times, he was very close to Zabini, and at others, he sequestered himself away from him. Almost as if he'd had enough of the effervescent and relentlessly jolly Zabini. Maybe he had, thought Harry. Jolliness could be wearing - especially if you weren't the type. He'd also been going for more of his night-time walks, but Harry kept that snippet to himself.

"He's not in the dorm." Reported Goyle, "Just been in there. It's empty."

A foot was spotted poking out from behind a curtain.

"That's him. He's dozed off on the window seat!" Laughed Zabini, who raced off with Tracey to fetch him.

Something puzzled Harry and he gazed into Nott's almost embarrassed face as he was brought back to the fold. But Harry didn't know what he was looking for. In any case, Theo could have merely been embarrassed at falling asleep at such an early hour, like a toddler whose parents had neglected to put him to bed.

"What's the time?"

The question put an end to Harry's ruminations.

"Ten to seven."

"Supper will be over; let's go to our secret spot!" Suggested Emerald.

And off the sofas they leapt, Harry following in their wake.

 **oOo**

The 'secret spot' was a housekeeping linen press behind the kitchens. Slytherin children were not indulged by the elves, no midnight feasts supplied for them. This line had only hardened with the freeing of rabble-rouser-in-chief, Dobby. As a matter of fact, Draco, who had a deep-seated fear of true violence, had been delighted to hear of the elf escaping his cane-wielding father. But none of that mattered to Dobby - and Draco couldn't really blame him. So the fourth-year Slytherins had thumbed their noses at the unfriendly elves, and set up a club house right next door. As they all sneaked around the corner, Harry read a piece of parchment in a familiar flowery script tacked to the door.

 _ **Warning! Keep Out!**_

 _Doxy baits have poisoned the air in this linen press - it will cause tea towels to disintegrate immediately. For the sake of modesty and propriety, all elves are ordered not to enter._

"Dumbledore wrote that for you?!" He asked amazed.

"Yeah! Dear old Bumblebore's always had a soft spot for us Snakes!" Snorted Tracey.

"Pucey wrote it for us; he's an excellent forger." Supplied Pansy.

"Yeah? So's Hermione."

"Pfft! Pucey's better!"

Harry took Millicent's advice and laughed off the childish retort.

The linen press was lined with wooden shelves right up to the ceiling. The blankets that had been stored there now serving as woolly mattresses.

"Grab a bunk!" Ordered Vincent Crabbe.

Harry looked around,

"Which one?"

"Any." Said Malfoy, "But if you're smart, you won't lie under Crabbe or Goyle - there's only so much support a wooden shelf can give! Ouch!"

Gregory Goyle had corked Malfoy in the arm.

"Actually, Potter, he's right." Goyle announced. "But don't worry; the men amongst us always choose the lower bunks."

They _were_ like bunks. Harry climbed up to the fourth shelf, lay down and felt as if he were riding the sleeper train from London to Inverness, the constant clattering of pans and hisses of steam from the kitchens making the fantasy more real. He looked across and saw Malfoy in his bunk peering through a wall vent,

"There are only two now, and they're nowhere near the pantries. You're on, Tracey and Nott!"

Tracey and Theodore leapt down to raid the vast pantries next door. As they came back armed with everything from goats cheese and crackers to fudge to treacle tarts, Harry realised this was a heck of a secret hideaway they'd got themselves.

"You know, Pansy?" Zabini murmured, "The Beauxbatons girls are dreadfully obvious. Of course, they're continental - can't help it. But your average, red-blooded wizard likes nothing better than a sensibly dressed British filly."

Zabini was joking, though Harry couldn't help but agree. That day Beauxbatons had arrived, Fleur Delacoeur replete with sophisticated prowl, had positively terrified him. Blaise continued with his good-humoured twaddle.

"Grey knee-high woolly socks … yummy!"

"Vests!" Suggested Emerald, "How do they appeal?"

"Be still my beating heart!"

"How about clumpy, flat, black lace up shoes that weigh twenty pounds each?" Queried Pansy.

She was still smarting from being sent to the corner of the common room all evening the time of her failed shoe-buying spree.

"Love 'em!" Shouted Crabbe.

Malfoy joined in.

"And for those of us that appreciate the charms of an older woman, you cannot go past a girdle!"

"Go _past_ a girdle? You can't get into one!" Snorted Blaise.

Tracey tossed Harry another treacle tart and asked him what his favourite part of the girls' uniform was.

"Definitely the sensible shoes - as long as they're worn with sensible knickers!"

"Spot on, Potter!" Called out Malfoy, "The well-bred British witch's uniform!"

"Merlin! You've all spent too much time with Snape! 'I'll have no flibbertigibbets in my house, Misses Parkinson and Greengrass!'" Said Pansy, doing a bang-on impersonation of Snape. "Who calls people 'flibbertigibbets' any more?! I mean, he's not even that old!"

"I wonder what a male flibbertigibbet's called?" Said Blaise.

"Zabini!" The other ten said as one.

"I tell you who fit the bill, the Durmstrang boys!" Said Malfoy, "Come into Hogwarts all dour and silent, but have you really looked at them? Highly polished leather boots, scarlet tunic and a bloody fur! I'd like to see them try and look so macho in grey flannel trousers and a sodding woolly jumper!"

"And you laughed at me for being jealous!" Said Pansy.

"I am _not_ jealous!" Came the predictable reply.

And that was the start of the 'Durmstrang Fiasco', as Snape was later to term it. Everyone decided they'd like to see Viktor Krum and chums turn up to dinner in a pair of black lace ups and woolly jumper - sans fur. If only, Harry said, Snape hadn't confiscated his cloak. Draco shot back that Harry's reputation as chief Hogwarts rule-breaker was founded on a lie. He'd cheated; no one else had an invisibility cloak. Harry claimed he'd used the cloak, of course he had - but he could still get up to mischief without one. He could easily sneak to the Durmstrang ship and snaffle Krum's uniform. If Harry could do it, so too could Draco.

"Prove it!" Demanded Harry.

"I will!"

Fierce coughing came from Millicent's bunk.

"Are you alright?" Asked Crabbe.

" _No_! I'm choking on all the testosterone in this room!" She replied, "Are you both mad? Snape will slipper the pair of you 'til his arm falls off! And in any case, Karkaroff coddles Krum like a premature baby; he'll make one of the others lend him their uniform."

"That settles it." Said Malfoy, "I'm taking all the furs."

"Well, I'm getting all the boots and tunics!" Said Harry.

"Idiots!" Said everyone else.

 **oOo**

Despite a plethora of warnings against the rash act, the next night saw Malfoy and Harry climbing the dungeon stairs to the castle entrance. On their way up, they passed creepy Karkaroff and briefly wondered why Durmstrang's headmaster was always lurking around the dungeons while his students only came inside for breakfast and occasionally dinner. But they didn't waste too much time thinking about that; they were just glad he wasn't going to be on the ship.

That ship had seemed like something out of a fairy tale when Durmstrang had arrived, but up close and with only a sliver of moon to illuminate it, it looked sinister.

"It's probably warded with dark magic." Harry whispered to Malfoy.

"Want to turn tail and run, Potter?"

"No!"

Millicent was right; the testosterone levels _were_ ridiculous, and on the idiotic pair went. Fortune favours the brave, and it favours the foolish just as much. Standing in the shadow of the jetty, Harry and Draco watched as Vasil Asanov appeared from the ship.

"Come Viktor! Master Karkaroff insists you do the water-acclimatizing exercise."

When Harry and Draco saw what said exercise was, they really couldn't blame poor, old Krum for dragging his heels. They watched as he plodded into the dark, icy water up to his neck and stood there … and stood. The rest of Durmstrang came out to watch. To support him, or just enjoy the 'champion' up to his ears in freezing water? Probably fifty-fifty, Harry reckoned.

Commiserations for Krum - but an excellent opportunity to get inside! In they went and to their delight, the tunics and furs were neatly arrayed on pegs in a separate dressing room. No boots, though - they were still being worn. Malfoy poked Harry,

"You can't get the boots, so you lose!"

"Bollocks I do! I get the tunics, you get the furs; we both win."

Wands whisked out, they banished them in a trice with some quite superb _depulsos_ \- all thanks to Snape and his impromptu common room Charms lesson from last term; this jape of theirs was obviously meant to be!

 **oOo**

Draco being an inveterate sneak and Harry a fully-fledged snooper, both boys couldn't resist a look around the ship. Spartan wasn't the word. Their adrenaline had meant they hadn't noticed before, but now they felt the bone-chilling cold.

"Merlin, Potter! If Krum's used to this, the next task's going to be a breeze for him. He probably hopped into the lake to warm up! You haven't got a hope!" Malfoy announced gleefully.

They looked further and saw rough-hewn bunks with only the thinnest of mattresses and coarse woollen blankets, no sheets at all. Nowhere could they see anything approximating comfort. And then a thought entered Malfoy's devious mind; what about that slimy reptile Karkaroff's quarters? They found it and braved a look inside. Of course … huge bed, deep mattress and soft, cotton sheets.

"I'm loving Snape about now." Said Harry.

"You do know he's great, don't you?" Asked Malfoy.

"So Millicent keeps telling me."

"Never argue with Millicent; she's always right … and even when she isn't, don't argue with her."

They turned to leave, but Draco spotted a slip of paper on the desk. It held a list of names and 'Malfoy' was on it - along with Snape, Pucey, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott. Harry saw it, too.

"Are they …?" Harry asked.

"I've no idea what they are."

The stomping of boots on the wooden planking almost caused the pair to jump out of their skins. Fortunately, there was a cupboard they could jump into instead.

"And now we all sleep. We don't want to anger Master Karkaroff."

They listened as many murmured agreement with that, and Harry wondered what an angry Karkaroff was like. He'd seen an angry Snape, but he somehow imagined Karkaroff was worse. It was grim on that ship; there was no other word for it, but Harry and Draco were too swept up with how easy their raid had been to sympathise too much. They heard the Durmstrang students obediently climb into their bunks and escaped the cupboard for the main door. It was charmed shut.

 **oOo**

"Severus! I _feel_ it!"

"So you have told me, Igor, _repeatedly_. Yet you have still to tell me what you expect me to do about it."

Karkaroff's insistence on speaking to him was no more than he expected. And though his tone was one of impatience, Severus welcomed these visits; they allowed him to … direct matters. He looked over to the weak-chinned man. Was he at the right stage? Panicking nicely? Perhaps so, but it never hurt to turn the screws.

"In truth … I … I feel it too, Igor."

"I _knew_ it!"

"Quiet man! Keep your voice down!" Snape hissed, "Have you no more brains than Crabbe or Goyle?! I fear the Dark Lord will indeed exact terrifying vengeance, but _he_ is not back yet. However, there are others …"

 **oOo**

The head of Durmstrang left Snape's office an hour later, frightened still - yet with determination and a plan. A good night's work, Snape reflected. And now to check on his Slytherins.

 **oOo**

" _Shit_! I _knew_ they wouldn't be back. It's curfew in a few minutes; what are we going to do?!"

"If we had any sense, we'd leave them to take what's coming to them." Millicent answered Zabini.

"We won't do that; we never do that." Pansy said, "Oh, here I go!"

With that she pinched the inside of her thigh hard, causing tears to build up in her eyes. Theodore Nott grabbed hold of her and began shuffling down the corridor in their rehearsed routine.

"Sir! _Sir_!" Called out Nott, "Pansy's sick!"

Snape rushed forward to sweep Pansy up and carry her into his study. He placed her on the sofa.

"What happened?" He asked Nott - and Millicent, who'd followed them in.

"We …" Began Nott.

"Yes?" Demanded Snape.

"We called her a sissy and tricked her into eating bugs." Nott 'confessed'.

"Oh, for goodness' sake! How old are you? Six?!"

"But, sir! She deserved it. She was being pathetic!" Said Nott.

Millicent had come up with the idea - having once forced her annoying little brother to eat a caterpillar sandwich, she knew the symptoms. She was standing back and admiring the gusto with which Nott was embracing his role when Snape turned on her.

"And you didn't try to stop this foolishness?"

"She was being _so_ annoying. You know Pansy, sir."

On the sofa, behind Snape's back, the 'patient's' eyes narrowed to slits and Millicent was thankful the play-acting meant Pansy couldn't reach for her wand.

"What was the bug?"

"A black caterpillar, sir." Said Nott, as Pansy let out a huge wail of disgust.

"More details." Demanded Snape.

"One of the hairy ones with red eyes."

"Well done, Mister Nott. Of the thousand or so edible insects around Hogwarts' grounds, you chose one that actually makes a person feel sick." Snape said testily. "Lie still, Pansy; you're going to be fine; I'll get something to take away the pain."

With that, Snape went into his workroom and started rifling through vials.

"I note," Whispered Pansy, "that no one's been threatened with a walloping. Typical!"

"Pansy, you're not really sick. I _didn't_ feed you hairy caterpillars!" Reminded Theo.

" _He_ doesn't know that!" She flopped back on the sofa and resumed wailing.

"Potter and Malfoy aren't back yet," Whispered Millicent, "so just keep on being pathetic for as long as possible. You can manage that, can't you Pansy?!"

"Millicent … when you're asleep, I'm going to …"

"Ssh! He's coming!" Urged Nott.

Millicent got herself out of there and raced to where all the other fourth-years were keeping watch for Harry and Malfoy.

 **oOo**

Igor Karkaroff slammed shut the heavy wooden door and began pulling off his fur-lined cloak. He walked a few steps towards his room and then stopped. Severus was right, he decided; it would do no good just to flee. He would bide his time, then silence his accuser before the Dark Lord returned. He remembered the list that lay on his desk. He'd been wrong about Severus; he realised now that he should have trusted him. Still, he hadn't been entirely wrong - his enemy's name was on that list.

So busy congratulating himself was he, that Karkaroff failed to notice the two young fellows slinking away behind his back - right through the door that he had neglected to charm locked. Some moments later he heard the wooden door rattle in its frame; this cold wind was getting stronger. Casting a locking spell, he hurried to his warm bed.

 **oOo**

"Where did our banishing charms send the tunics and furs?" Harry asked Malfoy.

"Dunno." Malfoy shrugged.

They raced back to the dungeon corridor and met the rest of the fourth-years including Millicent, who proceeded to clout them both around the ear for their lateness. Harry was just rubbing away the sting when Snape's office door opened and the head of house shepherded a very smug-looking Pansy towards the common room, followed by a not-so-pleased Theodore Nott.

"I'm poorly; sir says so. I won't be able to do any of my chores for two weeks, but that's okay because Theo and _you_ , Millicent, are going to do them! _Poor_ Millie - but you must learn not to be nasty!"

"Enough, Miss Parkinson." Said Snape, then he looked with suspicion at the rest of his fourth year loitering in the corridor. "What have you all been doing?"

"Quizzing each other on Ancient Runes." Supplied Zabini.

Snape looked sceptical but continued opening the common room door. The fourth-years were stood before the opening door, whilst Snape had his back to it; it was for this reason that the housemaster failed to comprehend why they gasped in unison. No matter, a simple turn and he understood perfectly.

He stood a moment at the head of the common room steps and watched as Tory Greengrass and Alicia Mayhew sashayed up and down the length of a wooden table 'modelling' the Durmstrang furs. Meanwhile, Archie, Malcolm and some second-years stomped heavily in scarlet tunics, and yelled at each other in quite awful renditions of Victor Krum's accent,

"Ve vill have vodka, vine und Vomen!"

"Get to your dorms, now!" Roared Severus.

The fourth-years behind him leapt to obey,

"Oh! Not you! _Definitely_ not you!"

Yes, the banishing charms Harry and Malfoy had cast on the Durmstrang ship had sent the tunics and furs back to precisely the same spot they had the night Snape had played the _depulso_ game with them all - straight over to the far left corner of the common room, right where the board games were stored.

"You pair of idiots!" Hissed Zabini, "Didn't you even alter the bloody charm?!"

It all came out; things generally did with a Snape-led interrogation. Disobedience of Snape's directives, disrespect for a visiting professor and dishonesty - 'the bloody trifecta', as Millicent put it.

 **oOo**

 **Back in the Fourth-Year Boys' dorm**

"Hang on! You're worrying about Pansy and Millicent when Snape's going to be here any moment?!" Harry couldn't believe it.

"Snape's furious for a moment. Pansy smoulders and Millicent … well, Millicent _schemes_ …" Malfoy explained.

The urgent patter of feet all along the boys' corridor told them that Snape was fast approaching.

"Once more over the footboard, boys." Crabbe said glumly as he went to stand at the end of his bed.

The others followed suit and Harry saw that this was not first time Snape had brought his slipper into the dorm.

"Why am I looking at your face?"

Nott had no answer to that.

"It is _not_ the part of your anatomy I wish to focus on. Bend over."

No more speaking from Snape. He communicated his wishes thenceforth with terse nods of his head, and Harry surmised that the angrier he got, the more silent he became. Four were doled out to Nott, then two to Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini. Harry watched Blaise rise from the bed rubbing his backside when he realised that Snape had paused in his retribution. Sure enough, the head of house was eyeing both he and Malfoy.

"Whose idea?" He asked.

Harry went to speak, but was beaten to it by Malfoy.

"Both of ours."

Snape nodded, "Then six each it is."

A hand was on Harry's shoulder pushed him over the footboard. He grimaced silently through four, but gave an ' _Ow_!' at five and six. Snape remained unmoved.

Malfoy received his due, and all in the dorm apologised when Snape stood at the door and spoke.

"You will get into bed, and you will sleep. This is _not_ the time to start testing me, gentlemen … and Misters Malfoy and Potter? The usual caveat - but next time I'll round it up to ten."

Despite everything, Harry had a warm feeling as he eased himself into bed - and, no, it wasn't just his super-heated backside. They'd all rallied round. He and Malfoy had gone charging off despite being warned, but the others had done their best to keep them out of trouble. He was so touched, he wanted to shake Nott by the hand, hug Goyle, bow down before Pansy and kiss Millicent on the lips. He wanted to do a lot more besides to Tracey Davis - but he didn't think for a second she'd agree.

And then he thought some more, and a feeling of relief came over him that Snape had banished the tunics and furs back to their rightful place. The Durmstrang students seemed a little odd, but that was no reason to play pranks on them. Now that his and Malfoy's moment of madness was over, he hated the thought of them trudging in for breakfast diminished without their regalia. It was all too easy to despise difference and not try and understand.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N 1:** Apologies to all the reviewers - I had a bit of an email catastrophe this week and lost all the reply links. A big thank you to all, and to Hamlet and the guests!

 **A/N 2:** Getting quite Au-ish. Of course, Merlin's day is my own invention (or more accurately, Cornelius Fudge's). Bear with me! I hope you enjoy it!

 **It's the Merlin's Day Festival!**

 **Wednesday 29** **th** **January, 1995. Slytherin corridor.**

There was nothing Licorus Black enjoyed so much as a polite young lady who showed the proper reverence for Pureblood nobility. He could have spoken all afternoon to Tory Greengrass on the courting ritual he'd followed with his inamorata, Magenta Tripe. A loquaciousness that was fortunate for Millicent and Tracey, as they were both currently engaged in the risky business of eavesdropping on Snape. To be accurate, Tracey was doing the eavesdropping. Millicent in the 'listening cupboard' was too a snug fit; she might squeeze her way in, but Merlin only knew how she'd get out. So, Tracey listened, Millicent stood sentinel in the alcove between portrait and cupboard, and Tory, with her list of questions supplied by Millicent, kept crusty old Licorus too engaged to maintain his visual patrol of the corridor.

Millicent was a gal on a mission. She was alerted to something the second she saw Albus Dumbledore, a vision in lilac, wafting down the dungeon steps. Of course he'd be coming to see her housemaster; he seldom, make that never, wandered by to chat to the Snakes. She stood in the alcove and winced as she heard Tory grovelling; if the first-year got any more sickly sweet, Millicent was going to get toothache. At one point, Tory had even curtsied. This Pureblood nonsense was the biggest load of toss Millicent had ever heard and she silently thanked her father for having had the wisdom to marry a muggle.

Licorus was now answering the third to last question and Millicent dug in her pocket and threw a bit of gravel at the listening cupboard door - the signal for Tracey to get out. On the penultimate question, Archie Delingpole raced down the corridor on cue and ploughed into Tory. Licorus was sufficiently enraged at Archie's ungentlemanly conduct that he failed to notice Tracey's exit from the cupboard.

Tracey picked Tory up off the floor, while Millicent snared Archie by the collar and made a great show of hauling him off to AB,

"Oh no! Not AB!" whimpered Archie.

Millicent twisted his collar tight to try and lessen the rampant over-acting. Despite her display of sternness, Licorus still gave her a gimlet-eyed stare. The effrontery that caused his self-combustion of last term was _not_ forgotten; she was hugely tickled by that. Tory asked her last question and Tracey couldn't resist joining her in giving a curtsey. Once inside the common room, the two first-years received their bribe of Drooble's Gum and Nosebleed Nougat, were sworn to silence and despatched.

"So?" Asked Millicent.

"You were right; he is off out again." Said Tracey.

"I knew it! He always goes out whenever Dumbledore or McGonagall come down here. Give me the details."

Tracey recounted what she'd heard.

 **oOo**

 **(from the air vent of the 'listening cupboard')**

" _I thought they were looking for it."_

" _The blasted fools have been looking for it for three months now! I need to see what's taking them so long."_

" _Very well, Severus. I must trust that you know best."_

" _Thank you, headmaster. Two days, then? Next Wednesday and Thursday?"_

" _Two days." Agreed Dumbledore. "Severus? You're heading over to the continent, are you? You're certain you're not going to Hogsmeade?"_

 _Snape gave his superior a puzzled look._

" _Only I did hear reports from Hogsmeade after New Year … several reports, as a matter of fact."_

 _Dumbledore took a few moments to enjoy his youngest professor's embarrassment. It wasn't often that Severus Snape was lost for words._

 **oOo**

"Next week it is!"

"I dunno, Mill'. Snape always has old Licorus and The Baron watching us like hawks when he goes away."

"Stop worrying, Trace; we'll be fine. Anyway, it's the Merlin's Day Festival the day after tomorrow. We'll enjoy that first and figure out the rest later."

Tracey acquiesced, as people generally did with Millicent. A second later, she forgot her concerns and was sniggering.

"I'm sure Dumbledore was telling him off! Snape went all quiet and didn't know what to say. Do you suppose he got drunk in Hogsmeade during the holidays?!"

The two girls laughed at the thought of their strict head of house himself receiving a dressing down from Dumbledore. But had Tracey Davis stayed longer in the cupboard, she'd have heard a lot more than vague hints at housemasterly indiscretions.

 **oOo**

 **Snape's study**

" _I understand you wish to keep him away, but the others?"_

 _Is he genuinely concerned or fishing, wondered Severus. Either way, he wouldn't be sharing his suspicions with Albus._

" _Cornelius won't be happy when he hears of it. He's rather pleased about this new holiday he's instigated."_

" _Fudge is hardly likely to hear about it; he'll be too busy down in London mugging for The Daily Prophet's photographer." Said Snape._

" _Perhaps so. But there'll be plenty of ministry representation in Hogsmeade. And quite a few of those are parents of your students."_

 _Snape knew that, hence the plan._

" _Still, it's a harsh punishment. Don't you think, Severus? The whole school is excited at the prospect of a two-day festival in Hogsmeade; you can't expect them to understand."_

 _Snape decided he'd heard quite enough of Albus' faux concern for his Slytherins. He brought the conversation to a close._

" _Headmaster, they all know the rules. If they choose to transgress, they must accept any sanction I deem fit."_

 **oOo**

 **Later that day, Slytherin corridor**

Draco Malfoy and fifth-year Philip Aitcheson came to an abrupt halt when they saw the group of Slytherins leaning against the stone door, or slumped on the ground. Obviously their head of house was performing one of his regular, unannounced checks on the boys' dorms for contraband goods. Not that the girls were angels by any means, but the smuggling of proscribed goods into Hogwarts did seem to be a peculiarly male obsession. In particular, an obsession of the middle years - first and second-years generally being too timid, and the upper years too sensible, _or_ chastened from previous run-ins with Snape.

Draco and Philip both did a mental audit of what was shoved in their bedside cabinets and wardrobes. Deciding that all items would pass the Snape test, they turned their gaze onto their housemates and saw a range of reactions from bored to mildly anxious, smug to squirming. Third-year Hugo Lampeter, in particular, was worrying the end of his tie so much it was about to turn into a tassel.

"Hugo, old chap!" Grinned Philip, "Anything to declare?!"

" _No_! Yes … no … oh, bloody hell! Just some magazines …"

The boys guffawed deeply and spoke in oddly gruff voices about how they themselves were ardent admirers of the female form and that such publications were truly not smut at all, but art. The girls rolled their eyes and stood around looking like disappointed mothers.

"Wankers!" Said Millicent to Tracey.

"Quite literally!" Replied Tracey.

"Ewww! What a yucky thought. Imagine the mess …" Pansy looked ready to vomit.

Word spread along the Slytherin grapevine that Snape was going through the dorms with a fine-toothed comb. And, just like criminals who cannot stop driving past the scene of the crime, nervous Snakes were massing outside the locked door. Harry Potter rounded the corner with Pucey and fell in next to Millicent, who was impatiently tapping her foot.

"I wish Snape would get a bleeding move on; I'm about to wet myself!"

"There's a few people here look like they're about to wet themselves!" Scoffed Harry.

"Yeah well unlike them I don't have cigarettes, girly magazines or half a drinks cabinet stashed under my bed - I just drank too much frigging pumpkin juice!"

" _Pfft_! Under the mattress - an amateur move!"

Adrian Pucey preened like a long-haired Burmese who'd got all the cream.

"You didn't bring anything dodgy from home, did you?" Millicent asked Harry.

She didn't bother asking Pucey; he quite obviously had. Harry shook his head. What would he smuggle in? Some spare dusters? A pair of triple XL hand-me-down pants from Dudley? No, he felt quite safe and leant back on the wall to watch the show.

Slumped forms straightened and fearful or smug faces fought to adopt a mien of polite enquiry; Snape had opened the door.

"Inside and on the steps, all of you."

The housemaster waited less than patiently for Millicent and a few others to make urgent lavatory trips, and then stood, hands clasped behind his back. After an achingly slow minute, he threw in a doleful shake of his head.

" _You_ know who you are and, more importantly, _I_ know who you are. So … after we have finished here, would the owners of the following items kindly make their way to my office where you will line up in an orderly fashion."

Severus set to listing the items he'd found.

"Several distasteful magazines … a pack of _extremely_ lewd playing cards … a slingshot … a bottle of vermouth … three packets of cigarettes … a bottle of brandy … and a copy of _The Kama Sutra_ \- yes Mr Pucey, I _did_ find that loose wall panel. Oh, and the fool who smuggled in ginger ale will also see me. No, it isn't alcoholic but as I found it under a loose floorboard, you clearly thought it was. Intent is everything. And before the whole sorry business starts, let me issue a warning; any claims of 'but I've never seen it before, sir' and 'my little sister must have slipped it into my trunk, sir' will only increase my ire. Do I make myself plain?"

"Yes, sir." Chorused the Slytherins.

"Very well. Do the right thing and don't make me come and fetch you; you won't like the result."

 **oOo**

 **Slytherin Common Room**

" _The Kama Sutra_?! Who do you think you are?!" Snorted Latimer at Pucey.

"Who do I think I am? A very _agile_ young fellow, that's who!" Quipped Pucey.

He then double-checked that Snape had indeed left.

"I'm not worried about Snape; I could take triple whatever he gives me and not bat an eye." He fibbed. "It's the ladies I feel sorry for; they're the ones that are really going to miss out …"

" _Oh please_! Someone shut him up! I'm about to puke all over this sofa!" Complained Sophie Blishwick.

"Come on, Pucey." Said resident tobacconist Blaise Zabini, "If you're really not worried about Snape, you can be at the head of the queue."

"I'd be honoured!" Bluffed Pucey.

 **oOo**

 **Snape's study**

Snape held the copy of the _Kama Sutra_ by its very tip. His other hand grasped the neck of a bottle of cognac. The look on his face suggested both items had been recently salvaged from a septic tank. The _Kama Sutra_ was given a delicate rustle.

"Really Mr Pucey, I cannot decide if you are insatiable, or merely hopeful."

It was one thing to boast in the confines of the common room, but quite another while stood on your housemaster's carpet. Pucey flushed at Snape's words and decided that when you're in an embarrassing fix, the only thing for it was to abandon all bluster and speak honestly.

"The latter - unfortunately. But, Merlin sir! Have you seen some of the girls since they came back after Christmas? They're _gorgeous_!"

Snape understood; he'd been that age himself. But he had standards to uphold, and another agenda with the always-affable, if hormonally-charged, Pucey.

"Pucey, you are sixteen. You think it will never happen, but it will. _After_ you are out of Slytherin, I might add. Now you might well be the least responsible prefect Hogwarts has ever seen, but you _are_ a prefect. As such, you will not be bandying about such material. And you most certainly will not be consuming brandy. I warn you now that if you ever attempt to ply one of your deluded female admirers with alcohol …"

"I wouldn't do that! Honestly sir, I _wouldn't_!"

Snape looked at him carefully. Irreverent and heedless at times, yet at Pucey's core was decency. In this boy's case, the apple had fallen very far from the tree.

"No, I don't believe you would. But you will keep your dubious personal library at home and stop filching your father's brandy - otherwise it's the cane."

Pucey nodded sombrely. He couldn't be cocky about being caned; he'd once seen Marcus Flint return from a caning after Snape had caught him bullying. If a pain-impervious Neanderthal like Flint was blubbering, he had no chance. Flint never bullied another Slytherin, but Pucey decided then and there to stop the pretence he was a brandy-swilling Lothario before Snape deemed it necessary to stripe him. His housemaster's tone changed.

"Listen to me. You don't have a taste for alcohol, or that bottle's seal wouldn't still be in tact. And though you're interested in girls, you're not yet ready to pleasure multiple women whilst standing on your head …"

Pucey snorted at that, and his cheekiness returned.

"You must have worked through the whole book, sir! I'm only up to chapter three - sideways with both hands grasping the girl's …"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence." Growled Severus before he turned to hide his smile. "Merlin help me, but I need you this term, Pucey. I want your mind out of the gutter and focusing on your housemates …"

"Is it that business with …"

"Yes, it is. Speak only to me and the other prefects. No one else."

"But what do I do?"

"You observe. Carry on being your usual self; I want no suspicions aroused. But keep your eyes open. I'll know what to ask you."

Snape turned and went to sit at his desk. Pucey was confused - and a little hopeful.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"That's all, Pucey. Send in the next cretin."

 **oOo**

 **Slytherin Common Room**

The line of cretins outside Snape's door wasn't getting as much attention as it normally would for the simple reason that the Snakes had better things to discuss, namely the Merlin's Day Festival. Genuine excitement was building and it seemed just too mean-spirited - even to the likes of Malfoy - to stop discussing the festival only to take pleasure in others' misfortune. Really, they were just glad that the dopes had been caught now. Snape would deal with matters swiftly. It would be water under the bridge tomorrow and they could all look forward to having a hoot in Hogsmeade.

The Slytherins weren't fooled at all by Cornelius Fudge's newly-created holiday. For a start, many of them had parents working high up in the Ministry of Magic and so had heard he'd bribed a junior clerk to 'discover' proof positive that Merlin was born at midnight, February 1st. _The Quibbler's_ sporadic articles on the return of Voldemort were beginning to gain traction and alarm people. The two-day holiday straddling the last day of January and the first day of February was a cynical ruse to garner support from the wizarding masses and draw attention away from Xenophilius Lovegood and his witterings.

The Snakes quelled any nascent alarm they might have felt as to Fudge's true purpose; what could they do anyway? They knew everyone would be obliged to listen to a hefty dose of dull speeches spruiking the sterling job the Ministry was doing. That could be a bit awkward given it may involve one or more Slytherin parents, but they focussed instead on the pleasure ground that Hogsmeade was set to become. Amongst many attractions, there'd be free sweets from Honeydukes, fairground rides outside Dervish and Banges and, best of all, a music festival in the gardens of The Hog's Head with The Weird Sisters returning to headline.

"It's gonna be bloody brilliant!" Declared Latimer.

 **oOo**

Harry was the first to see Pucey return and so won the race to call out ' _Have a seat_!'

"Oh, you're fitting in here far too well, Potter! However, this time you're wrong!"

"Ha, Potter! You're an idiot!" Said Malfoy, "Wait! _What_?!"

"Absolutely nothing! Zippo! Zilch!" Confirmed Pucey.

"Bottle of brandy and a randy book and Snape does nothing? Odd." Said Montague.

"Who cares about that? Eight people caught! _Eight_! Did _anyone_ get away with _anything_?!" Pouted Pansy.

"That would be telling …" Said Draco, attempting to look and sound enigmatic.

"That would be 'no' then." Millicent said.

"Sodding hell, Millicent! You aren't half a downer; I _might_ have got away with something!"

"'Might have', 'could have' … _haven't_." Tracey said emphatically, and Malfoy added her to his list of people to glower at.

" _Have a seat_!"

Zabini had just walked through the door.

"How many?" Theo asked Blaise.

"A big, fat zero!"

"Even odder." Said Montague.

Zabini was a little put out that no one seemed relieved at Snape's largesse of spirit.

"No need to thank me for keeping mum about who helped smoke the ciggies …" He grumbled.

"Thanks, Zabini." Said Crabbe, Nott, Malfoy, Millicent and Pansy.

Mollified, Zabini dropped his prickliness. "Now, what are we all talking about?"

"Merlin's Day Festival." Reported Bletchley, "I'm getting there early with Jordan and Davies; we want to be at the front when the Weird Sisters come on."

"We're going straight to Honeydukes." Added Malcolm and Archie.

"You do that." Said Miles, "And see if you can snag me some Jelly Slugs, would you?"

"The Weird Sisters are well-overrated." Argued Urquhart, "Some old blokes with eye-liner on?! And they dance like my grandma after she's necked too much fire whisky!"

"Urquhart?" Sniffed AB, "We know your family's not from Pureblood stock, but do you have to be so relentlessly proud of their uncouthness?!"

But AB was joking and he and Urquhart fell into trading friendly barbs, until Gregory Goyle announced he agreed with Urquhart. Goyle said he'd be giving the music a miss and concentrating his efforts on getting served in The Hog's Head.

"Come on! We've got to try it. Snape isn't even going; Hildy Brand told me. None of the heads of house are going. It's going to be Grubbly-Plank, Burbage, Sinistra, Vector and Hooch that are watching everyone."

"And on that note, I'm off!" Said AB, "I didn't hear anything about any plans to go to the pub. But if you think Hooch is a push-over, you're insane!"

Harry watched the head prefect walk off followed by his coterie of admirers, mostly girls from the first and second years. He looked around the room with its animated groups working out how to make the most of this unexpected holiday, and thought back to the gloominess at the start of term. AB had been right; once that first dismal week was over, things had quickly got back on track. Bit of bother with Snape the other week but nothing to get upset over. In a way it had been worth it; it had been great having everyone rallying around trying to cover for Malfoy and himself. Shame they'd copped it too, though that did seem to be par for the course in Snape's house. It had been over a week and Millicent hadn't bawled him out, and Pansy was yet to ridicule him in public. In fact, Sour Chops was cosying up to him. No doubt she wanted something; probably his dad's cloak so she could sneak backstage and get her photo taken by _The Daily Prophet_ with all the bands, or something equally prima donna-ish.

Life was good. Four weeks before he diced with death in the next tournament task, everyone getting on - even with people from other houses, Malfoy not being a colossal pain in the arse, a day off classes on Friday and two days of fun in Hogsmeade. Life was definitely good. He had no idea what he'd been thinking over the Christmas holidays; maybe Malfoy had slipped something into the punch bowl at the Yule Ball? Yeah, that must have been it. Typical bloody Malfoy trick.

" _Have a seat_!"

Gregory Goyle smirked at his housemates, lifted Tory Greengrass from the sofa and sat down next to Pansy, squeezing Tory in beside him. He confirmed that Snape had not meted out his usual justice before getting himself up to speed with the group, in particular, Goyle's Hogs Head plan. Teddy Wilkinson, purveyor of lewd playing cards, was greeted back into the common room.

" _Have a seat_!"

"No! Nothing! Honestly!" Said Teddy.

"This is more than odd." Said Montague, "That's the second time he's been caught with those cards. Something's up."

Third-year Arno Van Den Berg, importer of 100% proof ginger ale, came bounding into the common room with a grin on his face. People finally began to take note of Montague's warnings.

Two minutes later, Snape swept into the room and people rose warily from their seats.

"I have a bad feeling." Whispered Malfoy.

Harry, and everyone else, was minded to agree with him.

"Seven people and one fool," Snape shot a look at Van Den Berg, "have been caught bringing illicit goods into the school. However, I am well aware that these items were intended for sharing. Indeed, I am inclined to believe that the people who sat back and did nothing are guiltier than those caught. You ensured you took no risk, yet you'd have been perfectly willing to share in the spoils. As this is merely one of a long line of attempts at smuggling contraband _and_ as I cannot be certain who would have been involved in the sharing of said contraband, I have no choice but to punish you all severely. No one from Slytherin House will be attending the Merlin's Day Festival."

Snape stood silently and let his eyes roam the room, daring anyone to raise an objection. No one did, but they were all thinking the same thing; Snape _never_ does this. He's hard on us but he's always fair. Now he's treating us like he treats the bloody Gryffindors. The housemaster turned to leave and seventy-one pairs of eyes narrowed at his retreating back.

 **oOo**

Severus hadn't felt so unsure of himself since July, 1981. He'd left the room without being questioned. Malfoy, Mayhew or Parkinson throwing a fit he could have coped with, but had Armitage-Brown, Blishwick or even Bulstrode raised an objection, he wasn't certain he wouldn't have backtracked. The sight of his office door and the lonely sanctuary that lay within held no charm for him that afternoon. He needed to talk.

 **oOo**

 **Minerva McGonagall's rooms**

"Who needs a drink?"

He snarled the words as he slammed down Pucey Senior's cognac on Minerva's walnut table.

"Well, you do. Quite obviously." She snapped.

The old witch snatched up the bottle and inspected for marks on the wood. There were none, though she made a point of pulling a handful of skirt and giving the table a furious buff regardless. Content with the shine, she examined the bottle still in her left hand.

"Oh, my! Has Albus given you a pay rise?!"

"Adrian Pucey, loose wall panelling, stairwell to the prefect dorms. From his father's cellar, presumably."

"Stealing contraband again?!"

"Tell me Minerva, what do you suppose he'd do to his son if I sent the bottle back with an explanatory note?"

That unpleasant thought mitigated the concerns of even this upstanding Presbyterian minister's daughter. She went to the drinks cabinet and pulled out two brandy balloons that had once belonged to her mother.

 **oOo**

"But they're beginning to get along; that's what you wanted! I know for a fact that Lee Jordan is going to watch that, oh what's the name of that raucous group who played here at Christmas?"

"Weird Sisters." Supplied Snape.

"Yes, that's it. Jordan is going with Bletchley from your house, _and_ Roger Davies from Ravenclaw."

He wasn't surprised. More and more on his visits to the common room, he heard the names of other house members mentioned - and not in the dismissive manner of before. It did trouble him, though. Before the Yule Ball, he'd tacitly challenged his house to forget the old enmities and join in with the other houses and for the most part, they'd met that challenge. Of course, Armitage-Brown seemed to have been linked to that drippy Hufflepuff, Cecily something-or-other, since he was in his fourth year. And Pucey had always fraternized with other houses; there weren't enough females within Slytherin for him. But now Zabini, Urquhart and Bletchley had joined him. Millicent Bulstrode was often up to something in Ravenclaw; Snape had no idea what. Following the ball, Tracey Davis had boys of every hue cueing up to speak to her at mealtimes. Goyle had maintained his friendship with Hildegard Brand, poor girl. And as time went on, the hurt and isolation his Snakes had cloaked themselves in appeared to be falling away.

And now this. No Merlin's Day Festival for any of them - and all over little more than some contraband hooch, the odd dirty magazine and a few smokes. At least, that's what his students would think. This should have been a time when their efforts to forge new friendships would pay off. Instead they'd be confined to the castle while all the others had fun. He knew he was stricter than any other head of house and so did his students, yet they accepted it. Of course, they tried to break, bend and twiddle with the rules; that's what students did. However, when they were caught, they took his correction on the chin and moved on - with the possible exception of Pansy. But this? They'd think he was using a sledgehammer to crack a nut, and he couldn't blame them.

"I know." Snape replied to Minerva, "But there'll be other times for them to get together."

"What they did was wrong, but could you not have turned a blind eye until after the holiday was over?" Asked McGonagall.

He'd known about the banned items from the first day back at school; the smuggling was a regular event in Slytherin. But he'd also been given the heads-up from Jasper Flint about Cornelius' ridiculous new holiday and the fact that Death Eater ministry officials would be sent to Hogsmeade to act as an official presence. So he'd kept the dormitory sweep up his sleeve to use at a propitious time.

Given the staggeringly inept search Claude and Audrey Delingpole were mounting for the missing Mirror of Merlin, Snape had set to pondering. If the mirror couldn't be found and destroyed, then Archie would be taken. He'd be kidnapped until the mirror was paid as ransom - and then killed. Snape knew the Death Eater mind. There were Death Eaters in the ministry, but what of the unknowns, those that dwelt in the shadows? An easy task for one of them to pass unnoticed in Hogsmeade, the place would be teaming with visitors.

"No." Snape answered Minerva, "It had to be now."

She waited a few moments to see if he'd expand on that, but he didn't.

"Did you need to punish all of them? Not every student brought in cigarettes and alcohol, did they?"

That question stung. Snape loathed teachers who punished the many for the actions of the few. It was a lazy and harmful abrogation of duty that led to division and reprisals by aggrieved students. On the rare occasion Slughorn had been forced to discipline his house, it had been his chosen method. The true punishment had never been the loss of privileges or freedom. It had been the rancour and hateful looks and, once all adults had left, the escalation to hexing and fighting. Mob justice wasn't a pretty thing, but it had been the only rule of law in Slytherin House before Severus had clamped down in '82.

True, it was only one instance, yet he worried about sowing the seeds for a return to that. Then again, what could he do? A Slytherin parent would come for Archie; he felt sure of it. He'd narrowed down his list of suspects; the behaviour of his Snakes after being with their parents told him which ones were evil. Maybe more were, just evil and cleverer? He had his suspicions and had confided them to Karkaroff, but he couldn't be certain.

"It needs to be all of them."

"Are you going to tell me why?"

"Maybe some other time."

"So no, then." Confirmed Minerva, "Trying to help you is harder than trying to help a fourth-year that's just been ditched by his girlfriend. You're either silent, or you argue with everything."

"I do _not_!" Exclaimed Snape.

She was just about to claim that that proved her point - until she saw the faint smirk on his face.

"Oh very clever, but you need to confide in someone."

"You know, Minerva, in my formative years I became accustomed to being shunned and not listened to. It's a hard habit to break."

"I cannot keep apologising, Severus. And you cannot keep holding a grudge."

"Perhaps you're right. But let me keep doing it a little longer."

"Why?"

"Because it's so enjoyable!"

He was trying to make light of things but his smile did nothing to hide the painful doubt that showed in his eyes; Minerva saw that. However, Severus couldn't be compelled to speak. He was right; he'd been forced into self-sufficiency too young and now it was part of him.

"You're a fine head of house, Severus, else you wouldn't be upset by this - and no, don't bother to deny you're upset. You'll work things out." Minerva assured. "All the same, those students of yours are going to be extremely unhappy; you know that, don't you?"

If he didn't know it then, he was about to find out.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N 1:** Thanks to Hamlet, L, Sunset 74, Zuza and SLHarry - plus the other unnamed guests who left reviews. It's lovely to get them!

 **A/N 2:** This chapter ended up being hugely long, so I've split it into two parts - will post the other one soon.

 **A/N 3:** For non-Brits, Jermyn Street (mentioned in the chapter) is in London (Piccadilly, from memory), famous for its tailors. I hope you enjoy it!

 **Chapter 25**

 **Aftermath - Part 1**

 **Slytherin Prefects' office**

"Get the door, Latimer." Ordered AB, "And make sure Malfoy's not lurking outside."

AB had called an emergency meeting of prefects following Snape's shock announcement, though the prefects themselves had a lot to process before they could start being productive in any way.

"It just doesn't make sense!"

Sophie Blishwick was bemused _and_ appalled.

"I mean, Malfoy and Potter broke into the Durmstrang ship last week. They bloody stole things _and_ prowled around Karkaroff's rooms. I know he's a creep but he _is_ a visiting headmaster. That's far worse than bringing a girly sad mag from home, or a few ciggies. All they got was the slipper and it was forgotten the next day."

"Yeah, you're right!"

She'd fired up the normally gentle Latimer.

"Let's go and demand Snape reinstate the Hogsmeade holiday and slipper the ones he caught! He can really let them have it if he's angry. Give them a dozen; bloody hell, he could give them two dozen for all I care!"

"Steady on!" Cried Adrian Pucey.

"Sorry, Pucey." Said Latimer, "I forgot you were one of the ones caught. But you know, take one for the team … greater good and all that."

"I don't mind taking one for the team, but _two dozen_!" Pucey's mind was boggling at the prospect. "Damn it, Latimer! I thought we were friends; how could you wish that on me?!"

"Calm down, Pucey. It's not going to happen." Said AB. "I'll tell you what else isn't going to happen and that's the Merlin's Day holiday, not for us at any rate."

It was that awful moment when rage and denial were superseded by grim reality. Say it ain't so, thought Latimer, Pucey and Blishwick as they looked beseechingly to AB. But the head prefect didn't see them. He was staring out of the window in the prefects' office, not seeing the selkies and grindylows, just trying to make sense of his housemaster's actions. Slowly, he spoke.

"What do we know about Slytherin House since Snape's been here?" He asked.

"It's changed completely, and all for the better." Answered Sophie, "I mean, we've all spoken to older Snakes and read the Slytherin Bible; we know what it was like before."

"And how's he done that?"

"By spending time with us, I suppose; knowing what was going on, and cracking down on any shenanigans quick smart."

"Exactly." Answered AB, "Snape knows who was going to smoke Zabini's cigarettes and hand those magazines around. He could have called them all into his study and had them admitting to it in a heartbeat - _if_ he was really angry about it."

"What are you getting at?"

"He couldn't care less about that stuff; he knows it's just something that boys do. Any other time and they'd have been given two or three half-hearted whacks and a clip round the ear. No, there's something else bothering him."

Pucey knew; Snape had spoken to him about it.

"Delingpole." He told Sophie and Latimer. "He's worried about Delingpole. I'm guessing he thinks something's going to happen to him in Hogsmeade."

"And?" Prompted AB.

"And that's all I know." Said Pucey.

"Think harder."

Pucey tried but the drama of the evening had drained him; he just couldn't connect any more dots. Think, think, think, he urged himself. All the prefects knew to be on guard for Delingpole; keep track of him; make sure he didn't wander off too far. They knew there was a threat to his safety; a vague 'someone' away from Hogwarts with a malevolent interest in him. As the cogs turned in Pucey's head, Latimer thought aloud.

"You know, he could easily have stopped Archie going, or Archie and Malcolm. We all know they're always up to something. How hard would it have been to find a reason to punish them?"

"Oh, hell's bells and bloody ding dongs!"

The penny had dropped for Pucey.

"He's worried about one of us! He thinks one of us is going to help kidnap Archie!"

Pucey, Latimer and Sophie turned to AB.

"One of _us_?!"

"That's what I think, too." Said AB.

"Who?!" Demanded Latimer.

"I've no idea, and maybe Snape doesn't either." Answered the head prefect.

"Hold on." Said Pucey, "That still makes no sense. Archie's the one at risk; all he has to do is stop _him_ from going to Hogsmeade. The man's a wizard for flip's sake! Why doesn't he cast a spell to make him sick for a few days?!"

"Yeah!" Latimer was on board with that. "It needn't be anything serious, a stomach bug; that'd do the trick."

A good idea, seemingly. The prefects' office fell silent as they pondered it.

"Except …" Began Armitage-Brown.

"Yes?"

"It'd be a bit of a coincidence, wouldn't it? Imagine you went to Hogsmeade to snatch Archie and your son or daughter told you he'd been fine all term but now he was suddenly sick, or in serious trouble with Snape; wouldn't you get suspicious of the timing? You'd know that Snape suspected something. I think the last thing Snape wants to do is tip someone off that he knows."

A good point, but bloody hell the whole thing was depressing. That someone should wish harm on an eleven-year-old was clearly a bad thing; crimes don't get much worse. But that a fellow Snake could possibly be an accomplice? That hurt. Even those lucky Slytherins with decent families thought their housemates akin to siblings, but for the poor souls with monstrous parents, Slytherin House _was_ family. Or so they'd thought …

"I …" Pucey faltered and fell silent for a few moments. "I know what my family's like. Charlie and Emmy both left Hogwarts straight for the continent. They never even called in at home; knew what father would've expected of them. Emmy would've been married off to some chinless, pedigreed Pureblood and become a brood mare - probably to a cousin. We seem to be cousins with all the Purebloods."

"Not my family. The Armitage-Browns can't be held responsible for you, Pucey!" Said AB, trying to inject a little lightness into such a dark conversation.

"True, but then my father would no doubt cast aspersions on your blood lines. Charlie would've been headed to the Ministry; instructed to cosy up to the 'right' types, all those lovely people like McNair, Malfoy and Nott. Oh, yuck! What a disaster that would've been! Still, at least I'd have seen them a bit more often than every three fucking years."

When Adrian Pucey forwent the use of his usual expletives and modifiers - _gosh_! _flip_! _jolly_ and _ruddy_ \- in favour of the more robust argot of the Slytherin common room, you knew he was upset.

"Where did they go?" Asked Sophie.

"No idea; they won't tell me. They say it's safer that way in case father tries to get it out of me. I assume it's the continent. I mean, who wouldn't want to live in the south of France or Tuscany? I do get owls from them, but they're untraceable and they've visited here once or twice during the hols when I've had to stay at school. But that's not what I'm trying to say; what I'm trying to say is my family, save Charlie and Emmy, stinks. I've known that since forever, but coming here, well, I thought I'd got a new family. It sounds pathetic, but you're brothers and sisters to me. Only what now? What kind of family turns on the youngest brother? Maybe it's all just a sham, a bit of wimpy wish fulfilment?"

"No. No it isn't." Said AB, "One rotten apple doesn't spoil the whole barrel - not if Snape finds it first and throws it out. It's not just you that feels that way; we all do …"

"Except the rotten apple." Reminded Latimer.

"Let's not get carried away." Cautioned AB, "The 'rotten apple' is only conjecture; he or she may not even exist. We all know what Slytherin House means to us, _and_ how hard Snape's worked to make it this way; we're not going to go off the deep end now."

"This must be awful for him." Said Sophie. "He knows it's unfair and there's not a thing he can do about it. We should try to help."

"I dunno." Murmured Latimer, "The rest of the Snakes know nothing of Archie and they're baying for blood. We've got no chance of vetoing any payback; we have to let them do something."

But what? AB had an idea. Snape wasn't going to like it, but it was better than letting Malfoy go running to his awful father, Pansy spelling tacks up through the soles of his shoes, or any of the myriad forms of brutish retribution likely being dreamt up in the common room. And if it gave AB and the prefects a little fun, what of it? Whatever his motives, Snape had robbed AB of two wonderful days in Hogsmeade with Cecilia. He was determined to have some clever and delicious revenge.

 **oOo**

 **Slytherin Common Room**

"So? What's the plan?" Pansy Parkinson demanded of the prefects.

She was extra-specially irate with her housemaster. The unexpected trip to Hogsmeade would have afforded her the opportunity to duck into _Fenella's Fabulous Footwear Emporium_. The heads of house weren't going; she could have bought as much as she'd liked. And now that heavenly prospect had gone a-glimmering.

"Let me ask you all a question first. What do you want to do to Professor Snape?"

They were stunned by that; AB was the last person to start spreading sedition. But though they were angry, they'd given the matter no clear thought and so all sat looking flummoxed until AB started picking people at random.

"How about you Daphne?"

She began searching for ideas.

"I want to make all his cups of tea taste like soap."

"There's a spell for that; we could do it. But do you suppose Snape wouldn't know the counter spell?"

Of course he would.

"What about you Crabbe?"

"I want to make him as miserable as us. I dunno … put grit in his underpants and bed sheets. I hate that."

"How do you get grit in your underpants?!" Millicent wondered.

"I'm a man of mystery, Millicent; I never reveal my secrets!" Said Crabbe with a wink.

"Yes well, I'm just guessing here Vincent, but I think a wizard of Snape's abilities might be able to deal with a little grit."

Harry smiled at AB's response and Crabbe turned on him.

"You got a better idea then?"

"Erm …"

He didn't.

"Erm … swap all the labels on his potions?" Suggested Harry.

"Not bad." Murmured Crabbe.

Alicia Mayhew had been thinking long and hard.

"I want to sew a dead fish into the lining of his bedroom curtains."

"Do what?!" Asked everyone.

"The smell isn't so bad at first, then it gets worse and worse - so bad you can't tell where it's coming from!"

"The idea has merit." Conceded AB, "And I'm intrigued as to how you know this!"

Who wants to be outdone by a first-year? The ideas for retribution started flowing thick and fast; grease the floor of the potions classroom, wait for Snape to do his habitual storming into the room, sit back and savour the sight of the bastard going arse over. Nobble his chair leg in the Great Hall; that way the entire school could watch as he crashed to the floor. Pansy advocated forging notes from Trelawney declaring her ardent and unwavering love for Snape. At this suggestion, Malfoy snatched up a scarf, deftly wound it round his head and grabbed Elsa's glasses,

"I have seen it, Severus, I have seen it!" He wailed, "The Potter boy is nothing, a mere speck of dirt in my crystal orb. He has no gift; there's nothing special about him. The boy is filth, lower than a serpent's belly, I tell you. You and I must make the Chosen One! Come! Come at once to my rooms!"

The Platinum Ponce did an excellent version of Trelawney, _and_ looked rather fetching in a headscarf. He ditched his dress-up props and turned to give Harry a smug little sneer.

"You know Malfoy?" Said Harry, "You're the most well-balanced bloke I know. You've got a huge chip on both shoulders."

"You saying I'm jealous of you, Potter? Why would I be jealous of you?"

"There's no reason to be; that's my point, you dick!"

"You're the dick!"

"You are!"

"No, _you_ are!"

"Shut it, you two!" Said Millicent, "We've got important business here."

The squabbling pair had missed a few suggestions, but they were hopeless - hexes that Snape could block without blinking and pranks so obvious Hagrid would've been embarrassed to even consider them.

"A few more questions." Said AB. "I take it we haven't abandoned the realm of reality altogether? We are assuming that, at some point, Snape will track down the perpetrators of these fiendish ploys?"

Yes, he would. Everyone had to face that.

"And what do you think he'll do?"

Oh, yeah. Reality could be a shit place at times. People sighed and groaned and didn't bother to say what everyone in the room already knew. AB spoke again.

"Now let me ask you all this; what will Snape be expecting?"

"Grit in his underpants."

"Slug slime in his cauldron."

"Fish in his curtain lining."

"No, Alicia; no one expects that."

"Fake notes."

"Soapy tea spell."

"Exactly! Not very Slytherin, is it?" Asked AB.

People began to murmur agreement - all except for Pansy, who'd leapt to her feet and was standing hands on hips.

"Well, what do you suggest, Peter bloody Perfect?" She asked belligerently.

"Who's Peter?" Harry whispered to Millicent.

"He's Peter. Did you think his name was Armitage?"

"Sit down and do try to remember your manners, Pansy. There's a good girl."

She fumed at being addressed like a four-year-old and refused to speak anymore, so Draco asked the question she wanted to.

"What's the plan then?"

"The plan is this; we do nothing." Said AB.

" _What_?!"

"Nothing. We do absolutely nothing!"

AB waited a beat.

"But you know, there's no such thing as 'nothing'; there's always something. And our 'something' is going to be so much fun …"

 **oOo**

 **The dungeons, 12:20 am, Thursday 30** **th** **January**

Snape rounded the corner of the Slytherin corridor with Minerva's words of warning in his head. She was right; his students had been struck dumb when he'd made his announcement but he highly doubted they were still speechless. Looking at his door, he was surprised not to see a long line of complainants queuing outside - despite the hour.

"Any sign of the students, Licorus?"

Licorus Black bristled at being addressed by his first name - precisely the reason Snape did it - but once he'd regained his equanimity, he spoke.

"No. Is there anything you wish to make me aware of?"

Not particularly, but Snape supposed he ought.

"I've revoked permission for them to attend the Hogsmeade festival. They'll be upset."

" _All_ of them?! How excellent! Did you thrash them soundly as well?! I'm beginning to change my opinion of you; perhaps you're not the useless guttersnipe I took you for!"

On hearing that ringing endorsement of his actions, Snape took a deep breath, opened the common room door and prepared to face a writhing mass of surly, sullen misery. The room was empty. Panic hit. Had they all buggered off? No, it wasn't possible; Licorus Black would've spotted that - _and_ delighted in telling him. All the same, he wanted to check.

Now that _was_ odd. All present and correct, no empty beds and all asleep, or doing a damn good impression of it. True, it was turned midnight but Severus had expected the fuel of outrage to still be burning in his students' veins. Perhaps there'd been such a monumental mass tantrum that they'd worn themselves out? He stood at the foot of the girls' staircase and tried to feel relieved, but failed. He was powerless to read their sleeping faces. How would they be in the morning? Thursday was going to be undeniably dreadful but if only he'd come back sooner and caught them awake, he'd at least have an idea of how their displeasure was going to play out.

 **oOo**

 **7:10 am, Thursday 30** **th** **January**

Was it Pucey Senior's brandy that gave him such untroubled sleep? Or had his brain rebelled against the unremitting overthinking and refused to entertain another thought about his sodding Snakes and the fucking Merlin's Day festival? Snape suspected the latter. Not to worry though, he was certainly making up for lost time; he'd worked his way through a pack and a half of Zabini's cigarettes as he meditated on the reception he'd get.

The first-years … oh Christ, the bloody first-years! He could see it now; 'hurt' writ large across their irritatingly plaintive faces, snivels and wobbling lower lips. Pansy Parkinson leading the scowling, foot-stomping brigade, and Malfoy haughtily announcing that his father would 'hear about this'. What about Aitcheson and the rest of the fifth? He could picture them still in bed, refusing to go to classes. And then what would Snape do? That was the problem with levelling a harsh punishment; it didn't leave you anywhere else to go. What of the upper years? He had the horrible feeling he was going to see disappointment on their faces; what an awful thing to see from children you've helped raise. Snape bit off the filter from another cigarette, spat it out and took a long, hard drag.

Ten minutes to inspection, but he was already heading there, intent on nipping any mutiny in the bud. Stepping through his private office entrance, he almost fell over. Bright, shiny, smiling faces - a _ghastly_ sight. They followed intently his every step into the common room.

"Good _morning_ , Professor Snape!"

He forced an unruffled reply before walking the ranks, hoping to find a uniform irregularity and thus place himself once more on the attack. Alas, even Vincent Crabbe looked as if he'd strolled into inspection direct from his Jermyn Street tailor. Onwards to the notices: library study group for the sixth-years,

"We're allowed to go to the library? Thank you _very_ much, sir!"

Said with such utter sincerity, he'd look foolish to upbraid them for impudence. Van Den Berg was reminded he had detention, which prompted not a groan but a fervent promise the third-year would make this detention his last. As per tradition, the second-years were sternly warned against misbehaviour in their Practical Astronomy class - it was greeted with sweet smiles of acknowledgement. Curious. Ought he mention the cancellation of festivities? They did remember, didn't they?

Snape constantly guarded against showing signs of weakness but he was beginning to feel unsure of himself, and he spent a split second longer than he should have done eyeing his students. First-years Elsa Tobin and Tory Greengrass saw his moment of hesitation - and gave him a pitying simper and a pat on the arm. He turned and left for breakfast at once.

 **oOo**

The meal proved to be a case study in impeccable manners, polite conversation and healthy food choices. Snape kept counting Slytherin heads; he was convinced the faultless behaviour on display was a ruse. While this lot were giving an object lesson in decorum, two or three others were bound to be spelling his trousers to fall down as soon as he walked into his classroom. But no, all heads accounted for. Seventy-one annoyingly chipper and chirpy heads. Minerva's bony elbow knocked into his ribcage.

"How were they this morning?"

"Attentive, beaming like loons and achingly polite."

"Oh dear."

"Indeed. They're up to something."

Snape abandoned breakfast. He needed to get to his classroom and forestall any attempts at sabotage. Walking past the Slytherin table, heads turned one by one like a wave breaking upon the shore.

"Enjoy your day, sir!"

"Sir? Have I told you how wonderful your cloak looks?"

"We'll miss you, sir. See you at lunchtime!"

"Please take care, sir. Your classroom's full of an _awful_ lot of poisons!"

Snape nodded and walked nonchalantly through the doors of the Great Hall, whereupon he broke into a canter for his classroom and an inventory of his potions cupboard.

No sooner had the housemaster left than Hermione beckoned Harry outside, Cecilia Guilfoyle seated herself next to AB, first-year Sarah Finch-Fletchley raced over to wedge herself between Elsa and Amelia, and Millicent plonked herself down opposite Mandy Brocklehurst. At high table, Minerva McGonagall watched on and smiled. If only Severus hadn't acted like such a brooding adolescent and shared a few of his concerns with her, she might have been tempted to cast a listening charm and report back to him. As it was … people that made their own beds ought to be content to lie in them …

 **oOo**

Hermione grabbed a handful of Harry's jumper and yanked him outside the castle. They perched on the pedestal of one of the columns. A bottom-numbingly cold place to sit but she paid no heed to things like that when she was on the hunt for information - and Harry had no say in the matter.

"What was going on in there?" The bushy head jerked back towards the Great Hall, "Is Snape letting you have extra days in Hogsmeade?"

"Nope."

"What then?"

"We're not going." Harry said dully.

" _What_?!"

Sometimes, only sometimes mark you, not _hugely_ often, but sometimes Harry felt like punching Hermione square on the nose when she did that infuriating head shake and screeched ' _what?_ ' to a statement she'd quite clearly heard. Yes, he was being unfair to his friend, but he didn't care a jot. Going along with the prefects' plan was a huge giggle, but only whilst in the midst of the Snakes. Take him away from them and the disappointing awfulness loomed large.

"We're not allowed to go."

"What happened?"

"Snape. That's what happened."

He was quite clearly devastated and in the interests of being a considerate and concerned friend, Hermione gave him four seconds' grace before she began bombarding him with questions.

"No. Something must have _actually_ happened, Harry. What was it?"

Harry told her about the unauthorized items in the dorms.

"That's not nothing; that's terrible! Smoking destroys the enamel on your teeth _and_ leads to decay _and_ causes gum problems. Oh no, Harry! _You_ haven't been smoking, have you?!"

"No!"

"I should think not! It's disgusting _and_ it's against the rules!"

"I said I haven't; why are you shouting at me?!"

"And alcohol! That's just dangerous!"

"I haven't been drinking either!" He got in quickly.

He hadn't mentioned the girly magazines because he was too embarrassed. And glad he was of it; Hermione's head would have spun around and exploded off her shoulders at that news.

"We're missing the whole festival, you know. Not just a morning, or the first day, the _whole_ _two sodding days_!"

"I know." Said Hermione calmly.

"Bloody hell! They should make you deputy housemistress of Slytherin. You and Snape would be naturals together!"

"Be quiet Harry. I'm thinking."

Harry kicked at the gravel and made a point of not looking at her. Half a minute later, she gasped and he assumed she was about to share her thoughts, but it wasn't so.

"I can't sit here talking to you! I volunteered to help set up the Transfiguration demonstration."

"Aren't you going to tell me what were you thinking about?"

"No time. We'll talk later." She stood and heaved her satchel onto her shoulder, "Just don't do anything stupid."

"I never do."

"Oh, Harry …"

It was the disbelieving tone a mother uses on her fifteen-year-old son when he swears he never drinks at parties. She flounced away, her satchel swinging against her thigh, and then turned back.

"Hold on a moment! You all looked so happy at breakfast. I saw you."

Harry told her of AB's plan.

"Oh! That's brilliant! Very Slytherin, but brilliant!"

 **oOo**

Satisfied with his potions audit, Snape spelled his cupboard door locked. He had Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs all morning. Ordinarily this would cause his heart to sink a little; regardless of year there seemed to be no end of Hufflepuffs who could whimper and bleat over the fate of his pickled toads. This was generally coupled with a know-it-all Ravenclaw activist loudly questioning the need to practise potions on animals at all. No doubt the same annoying routine would play out again but - and it was a big 'but' - at least they weren't his eerily smiling Snakes.

Ridiculous to allow children to get under your skin like that, utterly ridiculous. Well fine, he was ridiculous. Ridiculous _and_ uneasy. When he'd used the confiscated items as an excuse to cancel Hogsmeade, he'd no idea just how shabby it would make him feel. Snape didn't subscribe to the 'this hurts me more than it hurts you' school of thought. If he disciplined his students, they fully deserved it. No doubts ever troubled him. But to discipline them falsely? That made him feel low.

He'd felt like a scoundrel and then he'd worried. Were they in mass denial, unconsciously banishing the Hogsmeade veto from their minds? No, he realised he was talking bollocks and his anxiety turned to suspicion. Was it a double-pronged attack? Beguile him with civility whilst planning a hideous revenge? Yes. That was it. When would they strike? He didn't know. It could be today; could be a month from today. He slumped over his desk and noticed the muscles above his right eye were spasming; he'd have a bloody embolism by the end of the day.

The door banged open and in marched Sarah Finch-Fletchley and the Hufflepuffs. They threw themselves onto their stools and glared at their professor. Once class began, the normally pathetically twee Finch-Fletchley zealously dismembered a newt - and then had the nerve to sniff disdainfully when Snape remarked favourably on her technique. The Ravenclaws were not so perversely out of character; they merely ramped up their irritating superiority. It drove Snape into a point-deducting frenzy, producing no effect whatsoever.

The second period with the third-years was every bit as bad. By midday, all Severus really wanted to do was crawl to _The Hog's Head_ and imbibe a gargantuan liquid lunch. That not being an option, he wearily climbed the stairs to the Great Hall only to chance upon Alicia Mayhew in conversation with some of Flitwick's second-years.

"Really?! You're not going to the festival? _Why_?!"

"Well, eight boys in the middle school did something they shouldn't have, so Professor Snape has forbidden us all from going. I don't really understand it …" The child look perplexed, yet ultimately stoic, " … but Professor Snape knows best. I think maybe we do all need to be punished very … very harshly."

She finished her explanation with a gulp and a brave determination not to cry. The Ravenclaws hugged her - and Snape began retreating down the stairs, but not fast enough to avoid their icy looks.

By the time his soup bowl was taken away, he was ready to book himself a bed next to Frank and Alice Longbottom. Snarling Hufflepuffs, angelic Snakes, disapproving Ravenclaws and the latest manifestation of madness, covert winks and the odd thumbs-up from Gryffindors - to _him_!

"Did you see that?" Whispered Snape hoarsely.

"See what?"

"The Patil girl just winked at me!"

"Aren't you lucky." Said Minerva dismissively.

He lingered over his coffee; next up was a double period with his fourth-year Snakes and the winking Gryffindors - not an enticing thought. Then again, he'd much rather be in his classroom before them. The glow of geniality from his students had mutated from strange to sinister. Nothing had happened, but it was coming. Thoughts of booby-trapped equipment danced around his head and he gulped down the scorching coffee before striding down the hall. His creepy fan club once again sprang into action.

"I hope you enjoyed your lunch, sir!"

"You had the almond tart, didn't you sir?" Enquired AB, "I hope it tasted delightful … hope there wasn't any strange, lingering aftertaste."

Oh God! They wouldn't, would they?

"We didn't have pudding." Announced Millicent loudly, "We didn't think we deserved it."

Snape wasn't sure whether to groan or slap her, but as he was receiving censorious looks from Terry Boot and Michael Corner, he did neither. He proceeded on to his next class - and found it every bit as dismal as he'd anticipated.

 **End of Part 1**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N 1:** Thanks to all the guests and **Hamlet** ; I love reading your thoughts.

 **A/N 2:** Special shout out to **Filistein** (who favourited the story). Best pseudonym EVER!

 **A/N 3:** Do people know of _Fortnum and Mason_? It's a beautiful - and expensive - shop in London. Hope you enjoy this!

 **Chapter 27**

 **Aftermath - Part 2**

 **Snape's study, 4:45 pm, Thursday 30** **th** **January**

To the casual observer it might have seemed Snape's students had taken their revenge by inflicting a _Dancing Dandruff_ charm. Not so. The plague of specks sashaying around his head were, in fact, blasted parchment. No sooner had Snape escaped his afternoon class than he hurried to his study for respite, and no sooner had he flopped upon the sofa than the first of the notes flew towards his head.

A misanthrope like Snape infinitely preferred notes to conversing, and yet they still annoyed him. So much waste of ink and parchment for so little import. Harriet Walsh wished to enquire about his afternoon. Had it been splendid?! No, it bloody hadn't. Malcolm Baddock and Archie Delingpole were thinking of playing tiddlywinks; could they, or was that banned also? Snape paused in his note-snatching to reply; yes, tiddlywinks was banned, as was sitting down on anything remotely comfortable _and_ eye contact with other housemates. AB wrote that he was pleased there'd been no lingering aftertaste to the almond tart, but was Professor Snape absolutely certain there was no tingling sensation to his extremities? He _had_ been certain - until the note arrived; now when he pondered the question, he could feel tingling, spasming and the onset of convulsions.

Who would annoy him next? Ah, yes. Miss Parkinson. Pansy thought she'd seen a Ravenclaw sixth-former wearing a skirt one and a half inches above her knee. She couldn't be sure; it may have been one and a quarter inches. She found it offensive in the extreme; did she have his permission to deduct five points? Second-year Lara Templeman had written him a poem,

 _ **Oh dear Professor Snape, it's true;**_

 _ **Not going to Hogsmeade makes us blue.**_

 _ **But you do these things because you care,**_

 _ **So we will stay in our Slytherin lair**_

 _ **And just be thankful we have YOU!**_

It was at this point Snape shot off the sofa and retrieved the confiscated slingshot. A little experimentation, and _bingo_! Did you know that semi-dried lizards' legs, when fired at parchment, caused it to fizz, then _pop_! and explode delightfully into tiny white particles? No? Neither had Snape, but he did now.

The lizard legs were difficult to load quickly and the occasional note got through. To wit, Adrian Pucey had just read the reply to Archie and Malcolm's note. He was currently sitting on a window seat in the hall talking to Professor Burbage, and here was his dilemma; Professor Burbage had invited him to sit down, but now he realised the seat had a padded cushion. Would it be insolent to stand up and disregard Professor Burbage's invitation? Should he perhaps place some hard items betwixt the cushion and his backside, say some pebbles? Could Snape please send advice post-haste? Snape was tempted to reply that the application of his boot to the area in question would be more than hard enough, but another note had got through in the mean time and was begging to be shot at.

About to let fly the lizard legs, he saw the green edging to the parchment denoting it was from the hospital wing. He supposed he'd better read it.

 _ **Congratulations!**_

' _ **Poppy's Poppet of the Week Award' goes to a student from your house!**_

 _ **Draco Malfoy!**_

 _ **For volunteering to read to poorly first-years.**_

 _ **Yours,**_

 _ **Poppy Pomfrey**_

Oh, good grief. In recent years it had become a craze amongst certain staff members to shower the students with awards and certificates - Pomona had started it all. From what Severus gleaned from staffroom chatter, the requirements for getting a certificate were threefold. One, be breathing. Two, manage not to soil yourself in the classroom, and three, not be from Slytherin House.

A steady stream of the annoying missives came flying out of the floo. _'Flitwick's Little Charmer Award'_ went to Alicia Mayhew 'for using her wand appropriately'. She gets an award for not hexing someone?! Archie Delingpole was similarly lauded by Sybill Trelawney 'for sitting in his seat _all_ lesson!' How did the child normally behave? Snape was alarmed. Armitage-Brown was recognised for 'gentlemanly conduct' by no lesser personage than Dumbledore. About time too, thought Snape - and then he recanted. Armitage-Brown _was_ a fine young gentleman; he didn't need a fiddling slip of parchment to show that. This week's _'Splendid Sprout!'_ was Philip Aitcheson; apparently he'd cossetted some fractious mandrake seedlings back to good spirits. And Arno Van Den Berg not only scooped Grubbly-Plank's award of the week; he had his detention cancelled.

It made Snape bilious. In all the time these awards had been in operation his Snakes had garnered precisely none, a source of huge pride to him. They behaved correctly in class because it was the right thing to do, or to avoid a vigorous discussion with his gym shoe. He didn't want a house full of needy whiners who got upset because they'd gone a whole four days without a certificate. He looked down at the slingshot in his hand. The owner had carved his name into the wood, _**G O L Y**_ _ **E**_. Good old Gregory Goyle. There was one Snake he could depend on not to win any awards.

He dropped the slingshot onto the seat next to him and smiled as he looked at the mis-ordered letters scratched into it. Then the smile fell away. This had been an awful day. How could it be any different when it was premised on such a cynically unfair punishment? The weight of being housemaster, and more, to these children was bearing down upon him as never before.

Waiting was the worst torture of all. He knew that; it was the reason his usual discipline was unwavering and swift. He had no problem correcting aberrant behaviour, but he'd never sink to tormenting a child beforehand. His Snakes were letting him dangle as they prepared to pull some hideous prank; maybe he should spell newt entrails to fall out of his own nose and ears and get it over with? The suspense was taking years off his life. But that wasn't his real problem. There may be some loss of dignity involved, but he could deal with their unsophisticated attempt at payback. But then what? He couldn't allow an assault to go unchecked _, and_ they were clearly all in it together. Would he find himself caning his entire house just as the other students were readying themselves for two days' of fun in Hogsmeade? The prospect didn't bear thinking about.

But now he wasn't so sure that was his concern. The notion had just crept into his head that this uncharacteristic display of people-pleasing was their sad attempt at getting him to relent on the Merlin's Day Festival. That his actions, well-intentioned though they were, could bring his proud and haughty nest of vipers to such a low ebb, filled him with genuine sadness. His eyelids were growing heavier by the second. He didn't normally allow himself a snooze in the afternoon, but after today, he felt he'd earned it. Severus pummelled a pillow into the correct position and lay his head upon it. No thinking about sad students or ghastly revenge attacks. Just nothingness. Bliss …

Midges in January? He refused to open his eyes and just batted them away. _Ouch_! Bloody big midges. That one almost drew blood! He lifted his head, intent on swatting the little blighter. Oh, for the love of Merlin, what now? A parchment that had creased itself into an arrow to poke at his ear was unfurling before his eyes.

 _ **I should like to commend Mister Gregory Goyle for conduct**_

 _ **most becoming in a young wizard. His focus on learning**_

 _ **and attention to detail in today's class was**_

 _ **nothing short of a marvel.**_

 _ **Yours,**_

 _ **Aurora Sinistra**_

" _Goyle_?! Oh, for fuck's sake!"

The slingshot was hurled across the room in disgust. If Gregory Goyle was getting commendations for his academic performance then Slytherin House, as he knew it, was finished.

Then it hit him.

" _Oh_!" Cried Severus before throwing his head back and roaring with laughter, "Oh, you clever, clever, evil little shits! You conniving, calculating and wicked little bastards! I'm so _immensely_ proud of you all!"

The sound of a laughing Snape was almost as rare as the call of the Orange-Bellied Parrot. It caused the person lurking outside to blast the lock and come hurtling through the door.

" _Severus_! What's going on?!" Shrieked Minerva.

"My students!"

"What have they done?!"

"They've …"

Minerva looked on aghast as Severus wiped away the tears pouring out of his eyes and then doubled up in some kind of paroxysm. A cold compress for his head? Some hot, sweet tea? She took another glance before rushing off to his kitchen - and stopped, mouth agape.

" _Severus_! You're … you're laughing!"

It was, a rich, deep, infectious sound. Soon, Minerva had clasped his hand and they both fell back onto the sofa laughing. It was some moments until Severus collected himself.

"I really do have the finest students, Minerva!"

Minerva stopped laughing and sniffed. Then she pursed her lips so hard they resembled a chihuahua's backside and finally spoke.

"Might I remind you that you've spent the entire day doing a fair impression of a rat hunted by a pack of Cairn Terriers? Not to mention endlessly peering backwards to check the seat of your trousers is still there _and_ tugging at your hair to make sure it hasn't been spelled off."

"I know! I was convinced they'd forgotten I banned them at first, then I thought they were just waiting for an opportunity to let me have it. In my afternoon class I was certain I was hallucinating. But the worst moment was when I thought they were trying so bloody hard to please me. The entire day's been torture! I want to thrash the living daylights out of each and every one of them, but I can't do a damn thing; all they've done is smile and be considerate! _Brilliant_!"

"If that's your idea of fine students Severus, you're welcome to them."

"Thank you. You can keep your Lions; my Snakes will do me just fine."

"You know this won't last, don't you?"

Yes, he did.

"Anyway, what do you want, old woman?"

"We're all having drinks tonight. Nothing as nice as Mr Pucey's cognac, of course. But do come up; it'll be fun."

 **oOo**

 **The Outer Reaches of Hogwarts Castle, 7:30 pm**

Harry knew exactly what he was going to buy Hermione for her birthday - a dog's collar and lead, Labrador-sized should do it. It'd make it so much easier for her to yank him around the castle, _and_ it'd stop the sleeves of his jumper getting pulled out of shape. He'd groaned when she'd pulled him up to the third floor; his last time here had earned him a hiding from a freakily cheery Snape. But they were well beyond the third floor now. Hermione had kept on going to the fifth floor and across the old wooden bridge. Once there, they'd climbed the crumbling stone steps of an abandoned belfry. How did she know this place even existed? And what the hell was she going to tell him that she needed to be this far away from everyone? Bleeding hell, it must some seriously big news.

For some reason, the hexagonal stone room at the top of the belfry was littered with piles of hessian sacks, and what looked like faded, claret velvet kneelers from a church. It stank a bit of musty, old bird poo, but once you got used to that, it was quite a comfy place to flop. He sank into a makeshift chair of hessian, propped his feet up on a kneeler and tried not to get nervous about what Hermione was going to say.

"Snape is punishing you all by restricting you and not allowing you to go the Merlin's Day Festival."

Is that it? I've risked my arse to hear that? Keep calm Harry. She's your friend; you can't punch her.

"I know that, Hermione." He said as equably as he could.

"No, Harry; you didn't listen to me. Listen again; Snape is punishing you _all_ by _restricting_ you."

He knew she was trying to tell him something; he just didn't know what it was.

"When someone acts out of character, you have to wonder why they've done it. Eight people bring in prohibited items perhaps at the behest of their friends. Well, we all know how intimidating Snape can be; are you seriously telling me he couldn't find out who was going to share the alcohol and tobacco. _I_ don't believe it."

When she put it like that, Harry didn't either. Snape probably lived for opportunities to interrogate and break down witnesses.

"And what about the punishment? Why would he restrict you and make himself _so_ unpopular? He doesn't normally do that; he normally beats you."

"How many times do I have to tell you? It's not a 'beating'; it's just a few whacks with the slipper."

"Don't get touchy. I don't disapprove."

"Yeah … thanks for that."

"Don't sulk either. My point is, this isn't the way he operates. His discipline is firm but it's quick. It seems to work for him and the Slytherins; why change now?"

"Ask him." Said Harry sourly.

"I don't need to. I think I know the answer."

"Yeah?"

"He doesn't want Archie there."

She saw his expression shift from self-absorption to interest.

"Why not?"

"Because he'd be at risk. You _know_ why, Harry."

"Snape knows about Archie and the mirror?! Oh, fuck me!"

" _Harry!_ "

"Forget about a bit of swearing, Hermione! Snape knows and you didn't tell me!"

Harry had leapt to his feet and begun pacing - and ranting.

"He wants that mirror for himself! He's a Death Eater. He's gonna stick Archie somewhere and blackmail his parents into giving him it. He'll probably kill the parents so no one hears about it, that's what he'll do. This was his plan all along. I _knew_ Archie was no Slytherin; I've always said that, haven't I? _Well_? Haven't I always said that?! Snape nobbled the Sorting Hat … must've drugged it … had Archie put in his house. He's been waiting for this opportunity. I bloody know it!"

"Why?" Hermione asked simply.

"What do you mean 'why'? This is sodding Snape we're talking about!"

"Why has he waited over five months to act on a plan he must've had since before September at the very least, supposing you're correct that he drugged the Sorting Hat? And how could he have been waiting for this opportunity? Fudge only dreamt up the holiday a few weeks ago. Why wait anyway? Imagine all the opportunities he's had to do something to Archie; he's his head of house for goodness sake!"

She made sense. He stopped and wondered why he ever bothered speaking at all sometimes. At times of crisis, he should just take a vow of silence and listen to Hermione.

"I didn't say anything before because I've been waiting … and watching."

Harry had stopped his pacing and drooped back down onto the hessian sacks. He offered Hermione a feeble smile and beckoned for her to continue speaking.

"Remember those chocolates that Archie was handing around at the end of the sleepover? They were from _Fortnum and Mason_. He told me it was the last of his supply; only his mother sent him those."

It was obvious from the look on Harry's face that he didn't get the significance of the chocolates being from _Fortnum's_ , so Hermione pressed on. Archie's parents spent most of their time at their Gloucestershire estate. The nearest shop to which was the local store cum sub-post office in the village of Bibury. It was a small shop in a small village; it certainly didn't stock items from _Fortnum and Mason_. At a loose end during the Christmas holidays, Hermione had taken it upon herself to do a bit of digging. She'd called up Mrs Fairfax of _Bibury Village Stores_ under the pretence of doing a school geography assignment. Armed with a few phoney questions about demographics, Hermione soon winkled out that only one family in the area received goods from 'fancy London shops', but that order had been cancelled early last November.

It was all so startlingly clear to Hermione, but Harry was looking at her as if she'd said two plus two equals a banana.

"Mrs Delingpole has the Fortnum's chocolates on continuous order - when she's in the country. She stopped the order back in early November; that's almost three months ago. I think the Delingpoles have gone away to hide the Mirror of Merlin. But, three months! It's an awfully long time, Harry. I can't imagine why it's taking so long, but we have to concede there are things we don't know about. I'll tell you what else I think; any Death Eaters looking for the mirror will be getting impatient. Xenophilius Lovegood's written two more articles about Voldemort coming back. They may try to take Archie, and what better opportunity would there be than at the Hogsmeade festival? _That's_ why Snape's banned you all."

Harry just sat; there was a lot to process. Hermione craned her neck to look down from the embrasure until she could glimpse the dungeons, Snape's domain. It was something she'd always kept under wraps, her sneaking regard for Snape. Forging a friendship with Harry and Ron had been difficult enough without letting that bombshell slip. But take away the insults, the unfair point deductions, the glowering, the sarcasm, the predilection for non-Slytherin detentions, the targeting and bullying of weak students, the seemingly obvious-to-any-Gryffindor devotion to the Dark Arts, and he - along with Professors Flitwick and McGonagall - was one of the best teachers Hogwarts had. She truly delighted in potions lessons, particularly when Snape gave his demonstrations at the front. The blades, skewers and assorted devices ceased to be tools and became extensions of his hands, so deftly did he handle them. He had no need of measuring; he knew the quantities instinctively. But while she'd thrilled at the virtuoso performances, her two best friends had usually been busy practicing shoelace-tangling charms on Parkinson or Goyle. And now there was this; Snape was protecting Archie. _And_ making himself public enemy #1 in the process.

"Snape's done all this to protect Archie? That means he's not an evil bastard. Well, he's still an evil bastard but not really 'evil' evil - if you know what I mean."

"You knew that already, didn't you?"

Harry supposed that he did. He hadn't voiced it, but The Git's fundamental decency had grown on him, a bit like mould on a forgotten fruit bowl. He shuffled into a more comfortable position on the sacking and looked over at his friend. Who did he think he was getting arsy with her? Hermione was great. He needed to stop going mental at her; all she did was help.

"It's a good thing, isn't it? I mean if Snape isn't a complete Voldemort-obsessed psycho?"

"Yes!" Laughed Hermione, "I think we can call that a good thing!"

"Weird, though … never imagined him going out on a limb to help someone …"

"I quite like him … don't tell Ron!"

Harry wasn't going to tell Ron. And he wasn't going to entertain thoughts of liking Snape, either. He would admit that he didn't object to being in the man's company any longer, but liking him? For the moment, that was a step too far. He thought it best to change the subject.

"Thanks for this afternoon; it was brilliant!"

"Don't thank me. Everyone joined in, and, anyway, I enjoyed it."

And she had, scheming with Malfoy. Who'd have thought the pair would be so like-minded? They'd both eschewed overt goading of Snape in favour of subtlety, working all lunchtime to choreograph a delicious dance of mind-warping ploys. It started, gently enough, with Parvati dropping her books and Pansy rushing to retrieve them. Harry, forgetting himself, let out a lovelorn sigh and murmured his heartfelt respect for Pansy's unstinting generosity of spirit. Neville seconded that, and Snape shook his head in disbelief. Was he imagining things? Had his postprandial coffee been fiddled with?

Soon after, Nott just happened to let Snape catch him gazing admiringly at Ron, and then snapped out of it and looked horribly embarrassed. Finnegan whispered to Thomas - unfortunately within Snape's earshot - that there was something charming about a blushing Nott. Snape needed a glass of water; maybe the dungeon was too hot? He was getting dehydrated and quite possibly delirious. Malfoy asked Neville's advice on when to add the powdered comfrey and how vigorously to stir it. Snape panicked at that, but Malfoy assured him that Neville was 'a safe pair of hands, sir'. Meanwhile, Millicent and Lavender linked arms at the back of the class and doodled in each other's books as their potions simmered away nicely. Pansy and Daphne admired Fay Dunbar's hideously thick tights and wondered where she'd bought them. And on it went until, by the middle of the lesson, Snape was wondering if he was in a parallel universe.

Two things happened that were quite unprecedented for this class. Firstly Snape didn't take a single point from Gryffindor; he simply couldn't find any reason to. _And_ he let them leave early; he just couldn't take anymore.

"I'm knackered, Hermione. Let's go down."

"Yes, let's go. Tomorrow's going to be a big day. Oh … um … sorry."

"S'okay. Just make sure you have a good time - and bring me back some fizzing whizzbees."

 **oOo**

 **Albus Dumbledore's sitting room, 8:00 pm**

The very next person that slurred ' _Happy Merlin's Day!'_ at him was losing an eye, or the use of a limb, _or_ getting a raft of boils in quite unmentionable places. Yes, he liked that one best. Look out Pomona; you'll have more than a touch of lumbago to complain of if you keep being so nauseatingly festive, thought Snape. Of course, he'd tried to get the whole nonsense cancelled …

They'd been sound arguments; parents paid good money to have their offspring educated, not to have them careening around Hogsmeade stuffing their spotty faces with Honeydukes' produce and losing what few wits they had over the execrable Weird Sisters. Added to that, hard-won study habits were going to be derailed. Plus, it was always a danger giving students a taste of fun; before you knew it, the little brats would be making all sorts of outlandish demands.

But Filius and Poppy had only pointed at him and tittered to each other. Pomona gave some garbled nonsense about rewards and self-esteem, while slugging back a hefty tumbler of Scotch. Then Dumbledore rose and informed him he'd give consideration to cancelling the festivities, paused dramatically for two seconds, and said,

"I've considered it. Let the Hogsmeade festivities commence!"

The sloshed cohort found that highly amusing. Minerva - squiffy after four glasses of sherry - placed both hands on his face, leant down and kissed the end of his hooked nose.

"Now, now Severus. You're just put out because you're the only one who'll have students in your house tomorrow!"

He had no come-back to that. The sozzled old trout was right; he was dreading being incarcerated with his Snakes. The revenge they'd taken today had had the whiff of cold-blooded sadism to it, but at least no outright acts of defiance had been perpetrated.

"But remember this,"

She wobbled slightly as she negotiated a return trip to the drinks cabinet,

"whatever those children have done, you must never deny them care and attention!"

No. Absolutely not. Snape would not be lectured on how best to look after his students - not from someone who most probably needed a map to find her way to the Gryffindor common room. About to summon a withering put-down - those things came very easily to him - he decided against it. The inhabitants of the staffroom were already half-pickled; he wasn't going to waste a good line on them.

 **oOo**

 **The Long Gallery, Third Floor, 8: 40 pm**

It was a relief to be out of the staffroom and away from such carefree folk. In any case, Severus needed to get going. Two weeks until the full moon, a batch of potion had been delivered to Lupin that morning, and Severus had to get started on the next. He was taking the long way back to the dungeons, all the better to avoid any odiously happy students. And who should he see waltzing down the fourth floor staircase but Harry bloody Potter with the Granger girl.

He cursed silently. Any other time, any other blasted time, he'd take huge delight in appearing from the shadows and scaring the boy witless. But Potter had impressed him as much as the rest of his house today. Come to that, so had Granger and the Lions. The boy had been out of bounds but didn't look to be in the midst of any ludicrously heroic deed, and it wasn't yet curfew. He slunk back against the wall and let them pass. No need to make a bad situation worse.

And sickening though her sherry-induced ramblings were, Minerva was right about getting back to his students. But what to say to them? _'Aha! I've discovered the truth to your dastardly plan, and it was simply marvellous! I am ineffably proud of you all!'_ No, that would be as distasteful to them as the Snakes being simperingly sweet had been to him. It just wasn't the way things were done in Slytherin House.

 **oOo**

He'd reached the dungeon corridor now. Time to check on his students before heading off to start Lupin's potion. If he could have the first stage finished by morning, he'd at least be able to spend time with his house and hopefully make some sort of redress. A smile at the thought of his devious students crept onto his face, and as he was alone he let it stay there. Well, not entirely alone. Licorus Black saw the smile and harrumphed in disgust.

"The students are fine." Said Snape to the portrait, "You may go and visit The Fat Lady, or whichever old crone has taken your fancy this week."

Licorus wasn't hanging around to be spoken to like that. He stalked out of frame just as Snape put his wand to the stone door. His students had been at it for thirteen hours now; surely they'd tired of all the cheeriness? No, apparently not. Snape entered the common room to gasps of amazement and cooing.

"As there are no lessons tomorrow, you needn't wear uniform or go to breakfast. If it suits you, you may take breakfast here in the common room."

"Three cheers for Professor Snape!" Called out Tracey.

Good God, they were relentless! No sooner had the last ' _hip, hip, hooray!_ ' finished than Alicia Mayhew launched into song.

"For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a …"

As quick as a flash, Snape had his wand out. The singing ninny was turned upside down and suspended over the common room fish tank.

"Do you intend to continue singing, Miss Mayhew?"

"No, sir. I don't think I do."

She drifted slowly down to upright and the housemaster's menacing prowl, wand in hand, corralled the students onto the steps of the common room.

"You've all been … uncommonly … _amenable_ today."

He paused, narrowed his eyes and swept his head up and down the ranks. A few sniggers escaped the first-years.

"Affable …" Continued Snape, "Some might say even charming and _sweet_."

He did a spectacular grimace with the last word, and the sniggers expanded into the middle school ranks.

"This afternoon, I found myself the fêted housemaster of the most awarded and 'certified' house in the school …"

Crabbe couldn't resist digging Goyle in the ribs and grinning.

"Strange that all this should occur in the midst of a severe punishment … so, I'm left wondering how much we could achieve with a little more severity? Hmm? What do you think? Maybe I should cancel Christmas?!"

The younger years gasped in horror, until nearby older students gave them a poke and told them to stop being bloody idiots. But the older years glowed with pride. What a housemaster!

 **oOo**

 **Slytherin Corridor, 12:15 am, 31** **st** **January**

A note from Dumbledore requesting his presence saw Severus leaving his rooms at quarter past midnight. He turned the corner of the corridor to see someone backing out of the common room, very softly, very quietly.

"Mister Armitage-Brown."

Curious how a voice like melted chocolate pouring into your ears should give you such a start, but AB did a lovely little pirouette _and_ a squeak.

"It's now quarter past midnight, and as such, not only past curfew but also past lights out for the seventh-years. Which all rather begs the question of what you are doing here?"

Over the years, he'd been in enough scrapes with Snape to know the futility of trying to weasel his way out of something. Note to any Slytherins yet to be sorted; never lie to Snape. It makes matters infinitely worse.

"I was sneaking out to give some money to Cecilia. I want her to buy me a Weird Sisters T-shirt. I forgot earlier. Sorry, sir."

Snape gave an appraising look up and down before skewering AB with 'a look'.

"Anyone see you leave?"

"Latimer. He wants a T-shirt too."

"Hmm … tell him I gave you four. And make it believable; I won't have students thinking they can get about the castle at all hours."

"I will, sir. Thank you, sir!"

"Not so fast, Armitage-Brown. You will limit yourself to ten minutes in Miss Guilfoyle's company, _and_ behave appropriately. Am I clear?"

"Oh, I'll be a gentleman, sir." AB pulled a roll of parchment from his back pocket, "I have the paperwork from Professor Dumbledore to prove it!"

Odd the moments you recognise a youngster's grown. If he hadn't had to reach to clip AB round the ear for his cheek, Severus might not have realised the boy was almost the same height. He felt an odd sense of pride watching him go beetling off down the corridor. And two misdeeds let go in the one night? Unheard of. He'd be handing out certificates next, _'Snape's Slimeball'_ , or maybe _'Snape's Sneak of the Week'_ ? Enough tomfoolery. He needed to see what on earth Albus wanted at such an hour.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N 1:** Sorry for the delay - I've been working (very) far from home with my trusty recorder collecting threatened dialects. This will be an on-going situation for a while, but I will post when I'm back home. I hate long gaps because you lose the thread of the story, so I apologise and I'll do what I can.

 **A/N 2:** Thanks - as always - to the guests, and **Moonacre** and **Mickiechandler**. Yes, **Hamlet** \- I just had to get that line in! (It was a little foretaste of Snape all those years ago, wasn't it?! So tickled that you spotted it!)

 **Chapter 28 - Didn't need to be like this ...**

 **Hogwarts' grand staircase, 4:45 pm, Friday 31** **st** **January**

" _Whoa_!" Cried Chang.

"Look out!" Called Warren to Boot and Corner.

"Move!"

The Ravenclaws threw themselves against the banister. Not fast enough - she still clipped Michael Corner and sent him tumbling down the stairs. It was Millicent Bulstrode. A fearsome sight at full pelt, she looked like an out-of-control battering ram as she careered down the grand staircase. Millicent wasn't a fan of sprinting, so why the hurry? Well, two things …

Firstly, she was keen to tell Potter he was an idiot. The day might have got off to a lacklustre start, but it ended up being brilliant. McGonagall was great in the morning - no pitying looks, or fake concern. She told them straight up she was keeping them out of mischief, and then went on to hand out cups of tepid water.

"Bottoms up!" Cried Minerva as she knocked back her own drink.

The Slytherins looked supremely unimpressed, until Minerva winked at them and said,

"What?! Lukewarm water isn't good enough for you?! I suppose you'll be wanting butterbeer?"

She then taught them how to transfigure water into the favoured drink, and a lot more besides. They learnt she wasn't always wary and disapproving, but maybe that was down to the absence of Malfoy and his minders? Whatever, it was nice when she smiled and poked gentle fun at herself and others. After lunch, Flitwick shared his technique for long distance casting. Rock back and forth on your heel twice, run seven paces, jump up and land heavily, then cast a tickling charm - and the charm shot over eighty metres like a lightning bolt. They raced around the periphery of the front lawns, casting away and knocking each other off their feet into giggling heaps. Last person standing - Harriet Walsh - won a Honeydukes voucher, "Assuming Professor Snape ever allows you back there!" Winked Flitwick.

Fortunately, Professor Sprout had no exciting variant on Herbology to keep them entertained. No such thing existed for the Slytherins; they were all uniformly bored by it. Instead, she provided afternoon tea whilst encouraging them to nurture their caring and empathetic selves. They looked at her like she were mad, so she gave up and taught them all the bawdy songs she could remember from her own school days,

"You see?! Gardeners can be _completely_ mad, too!" She exclaimed.

They believed her, alright. Still, it was lovely to not be treated with suspicion. None of them had done that. McGonagall hadn't told them her spell shouldn't be used for nefarious purposes, just as Flitwick hadn't felt the need to caution against long-distance hexing. And Sprout? Well, who doesn't want to learn songs comprised entirely of double entendres?

The second reason for Millicent's haste was she and Zabini had just bumped into The Brainbox and Ginger Nut. In their opinion, the Merlin's Day Festival was a complete wash-out, both literally and figuratively.

"One bloody long yawn-fest. I wish we'd been banned from going." Moaned Ron.

'Festivities' got off to a bad start when an odd little witch from the ministry, dressed head to toe in candy floss pink, announced a last minute change to the entertainment. Weird Sisters were off the bill, replaced with a children's choir recital so achingly sweet it put most people off the free Honeydukes produce, which was a good thing - as there was precious little on offer. Then came the speeches from the Ministry officials. Merlin barely rated a mention; all the speeches - there were many - lauded Cornelius Fudge, and were most probably written by him. When the windbags were finally out of air, people were allowed on the rides. But the heavens opened and they were shut down for safety reasons.

"It was long, cold, wet and no fun at all." Sighed Hermione. "And don't smirk Millicent! That's _so_ mean!"

Of course, Millicent and Blaise hooted at that - but Hermione didn't really mind. So that was why Millicent was running down to the dungeon at breakneck speed; _she_ wanted to be the one to tell Harry and the rest of the grumblers that there was really nothing to be miserable about.

 **oOo**

Two Hufflepuffs came through the great doors and flopped, wet and windswept, onto the bottom stair.

"Out of the sodding way!" Yelled Millicent.

She thundered down to the dungeon. Throwing her right arm around the granite column, she swung into the corridor - and stopped dead.

"Inside. _Now_!"

It wasn't the furious expression; Millicent was accustomed to that. Nor was it the snarled order; they weren't uncommon, either. It was what Snape was holding in his right hand that had her standing stiller than the stone column behind her. But he had no patience for her shock, and pulled her with him. She scanned the common room. No Potter, no Bletchley, no Malfoy, no Pucey, no Crabbe, no Goyle, and no Nott. Oh, you fucking idiots, thought Millicent. Tell me you didn't; it really didn't need to be like this …

 **oOo**

 **The corridor outside Snape's office, 5:05pm, Friday 31** **st** **January**

Licorus Black was quite clearly tickled pink, bobbing around so much his picture frame nearly fell off the wall. But Severus didn't even notice him. He stood facing his office and leaned forward, resting his forehead on the cool stone wall. He felt like giving up. Right at that very moment, if he could have apparated out of Hogwarts, he would have. It was too much; the secrets and lies he held in his head had grown so numerous he could barely contain them. He felt them pressing from within, causing his temples and eyes to throb. His promise to look after Potter had been added to by the promise he'd made himself twelve years ago, to do his utmost to keep his Snakes from harm.

And it seemed a new constraint was added to this mix daily. He hadn't intended to end the day like this; who would? But the meeting with Albus in the early hours of the morning had put paid to his plans. And what had happened the second his back was turned? No. He felt no sympathy. Standing up tall, he straightened his shoulders and breathed in deeply. Not one part of him regretted what he was about to do.

 **oOo**

 **The dungeons, 1:30 am, Friday 31** **st** **January**

"It's always me; it's always bloody me."

He informed his empty sitting room as he dusted ash from his trousers. Generally speaking, Severus didn't travel by floo within the castle; he prowled the corridors seeking out malefactors, most notably Potter. But that night, time was at a premium; the cause of which had him seething. He stalked to his classroom and glared at the simmering cauldron. The fumes rising from it were of the very palest green - as they should have been given the potion was in its initial stage. It was only when the fumes turned blue that Wolfsbane was effective, and even then the exacting potion needed three to four days of 'settling'. In its current state it was useless; give that to Lupin and he'd be rampaging around the North Yorkshire Moors with the Ministry's werewolf hunters in hot pursuit. Not a bad plan - though he doubted Albus would go for it.

Everything would have been fine had Lupin not tripped on one of the many holes in his threadbare kitchen rug. A whole batch of Wolfsbane potion soaked into his scratched floorboards. Even that wouldn't have been a disaster under ordinary circumstances. Dried mistletoe berries could act as a catalyst to speed the absorption of the aconite. A purist like Snape disliked that approach, but it did work. The mistletoe in question only grew on the pistachio trees of Kazakhstan. His usual supply arrived on the first of every month, but with Cornelius Fudge's brainchild, the two-day holiday to celebrate Merlin's birth, all deliveries were postponed.

And it appeared even Albus Dumbledore himself didn't understand the delicacy and timing of preparing potions. What did these imbeciles think? That he simply cranked up the heat under the cauldron and rapid-boiled it to maturation? The ignorance was breath-taking. Of course … he could only try his best, and if his best happened to be a sub-par potion that saw Lupin howling at the moon, then what of it? Except he didn't mean that for a second. Not that concern for Lupin was his primary motivation; it just wasn't within him to create a lacklustre brew. Severus despised failing at potions. It offended him.

Which in turn meant he could kiss goodbye to spending time with his Snakes - and that pained him. Bad enough he should need to punish them unfairly, but to abandon them was worse. Worse and more dangerous. The euphoria at duping their housemaster would wear off soon into the day; gripes and grousing would escalate and, before he knew it, the house would be mutinous. But what choice did he have? Minerva had offered an impromptu Transfiguration lesson that would keep the students amused for a while, and Flitwick and Pomona had also offered their time, but no one could help with the potion. No one shared his skill. Hang on … not true … Peter Armitage-Brown. There was a boy with a gift for the subtle art.

Snape raced to the dormitory stairs - and caught AB standing like a deer in the headlights. What in Merlin's name is wrong with him? Aha … he's only just back from seeing Miss Guilfoyle; that was an exceedingly long ten minutes. But for the third time that night, Snape extended a student latitude.

"Your appalling time-keeping has been noted, Mister Armitage-Brown. However, you're spared a re-acquaintance with the slipper; I need your help."

 **oOo**

 **11:00 am, Friday 31** **st** **January**

"He's not there, and he's not in the library either. I've checked everywhere now. I bet you Snape's let him go!"

Miles Bletchley wasn't a happy camper. The seeds had been sown last July when Pucey had been named sixth-year prefect, and not himself. They were good mates, but who makes a giggling gertie like Pucey prefect? What was Snape playing at? He'd eventually let the matter drop some time around November, but now his ire was reignited. Miles had systematically searched and found no trace of AB, nor had the other prefects seen him. He was convinced Snape had allowed AB to go to Hogsmeade on the quiet.

That was the reason Bletchley hadn't followed the main group up to McGonagall's classroom; he was too busy trying to pin down AB's whereabouts and foment unrest. Most of his housemates weren't interested. They'd been disappointed when Snape hadn't made an appearance, but what could they do? They'd had the luxury of a lie-in, and a breakfast feast laid on in the common room. Not too shabby for a house that was grounded. When Latimer had read out the invitation from McGonagall, most were keen to go, if only out of curiosity. But, of course, Bletchley had been able to secure a rump of belly-achers.

Draco Malfoy was in that unpleasant position of refusing to admit that he really wanted to go. He'd sneered as Pansy, Blaise and Millicent had trooped up the dungeon stairs with the others, but secretly been peeved that the Transfiguration class wasn't compulsory. What was Snape thinking? They were supposed to be being punished; who punishes people by making things optional? Crabbe couldn't bring himself to leave the breakfast buffet. By the time he'd finally rammed the last croissant into his mouth, the others had left - and he was too stuffed to do anything other than flop in an armchair and stare vacantly.

Goyle had no strong feelings either way about going to McGonagall. But Malfoy told him he didn't want to, and that was that. Gregory Goyle was nothing if not an obedient follower of whomever had the sharpest tone. Nott was back in the doldrums, and as such, a perfect candidate for the rebel wing of Slytherin. And Pucey? Who knew what he was doing there? As the others moped, he beamed like a lighthouse.

Harry had been sceptical of Bletchley's favouritism theory at first, mainly because Snape didn't appear to have an indulgent bone in his body, but also because AB just seemed too honourable to go slinking off when no one else could. And did he really care? He wasn't sure he did. He knew the reason Snape had engineered this whole Hogsmeade ban, and if it kept Archie safe, he'd go along with it. No, the real reason Harry had joined this band of malcontents was something he had a hard time admitting to himself.

Yesterday's goading of Snape had been brilliant fun. So much fun, that when The Git cottoned on to their ruse and came into the common room, Harry had been fully prepared to take a whacking and not utter a word of complaint. But Snape hadn't whacked anyone; he'd been full of admiration smothered in snark - just the way the Snakes liked him. "You wait," Zabini had said up in the dorm, "we'll have a great day tomorrow. Snape will have a plan." And that was the problem; Harry had appalled himself by admitting that a day with Snape might be, if not better, then at least on par with a day in Hogsmeade. And then what? They'd not seen hide nor hair of the bastard. Had he buggered off to Hogsmeade with AB? No. Ridiculous. But there's nothing like admitting to yourself a long suppressed want, only to have it dashed. Harry didn't believe a word of Bletchley's conspiracy theory, but he was having spiteful fun adding to it.

"Latimer said AB saw Cecilia late last night. Maybe she talked him into pleading with Snape for permission to go?" Suggested Harry.

Bletchley shot into the air.

"You see?! I _was_ right!"

It's amazing what you'll go along with when you're in the right mood. No one agreed with Bletchley, but none thought to dissuade him from his tirade. Before they knew it, they found themselves cooking up plans to get to Hogsmeade. It was really just an academic exercise, a bit of a lark. A person can mope indefinitely when alone, but get in a group and that soon changes. Outlandish schemes like flying above the cloud cover, or disguising themselves as Durmstrang students were mooted. They came to naught because they were bloody hopeless. Didn't matter. It was fun to sit and whisper furtively, even if Harry did feel like a phony. He could easily tell them about the passage to Honeydukes, or the passage from the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack. Why not, he wondered; he wasn't sure. But this was just a bit of fun to pass the time; nothing would come of it.

 **oOo**

Armitage-Brown lay sleeping on the makeshift bed in the classroom, and Snape went once more to spy on his house. Most students had gone to Minerva; a few were left, but they seemed to be occupied. But what the hell was that group doing there by the fire? And what was getting Bletchley so animated? Severus didn't like the thought of _them_ at a loose end. No time to investigate though; he had powdered Adder's Fork waiting to be sprinkled into the cauldron.

 **oOo**

 **11:30 am, Friday 31** **st** **January**

"How did _she_ get in here, and what are you doing to her?! She's not a doll; you can't dress her up!"

Theo Nott was objecting to the ugliest cat in existence having been made even more ugly by the addition of a Slytherin tie wrapped around her head like a turban, four grey and green socks pulled up her scraggly legs and glitter sprinkled in her fur.

"I can and I have!" Replied Alicia, "You look lovely, Mrs Norris!"

Mrs Norris lay back and awaited the next sliver of salmon the girls had reserved from breakfast.

"And get stuffed, Theo; we don't play with dolls - we're way too old for that!" Said Elsa.

"Of course you are." Sneered Theo, "Playing dress-ups with a cat is much more mature."

They'd been up with Minerva, but then Astoria Greengrass told Alicia she shouldn't drink any more butterbeer; she was already too fat. Alicia kicked her ankle and stomped off; Elsa and Archie felt sorry for her, and left in a show of solidarity.

Mrs Norris gave a low, haunting wail of annoyance; the salmon had run out. Archie leapt up from reading his book to race upstairs; maybe Mrs Norris would like some glacéed fruit? Harry laughed. No, she wouldn't; she'd be even more reproachful if presented with something that hadn't once had a beating heart.

 **oOo**

The door to the common room opened, and Snape stormed in to stop by the bookcase and glare in turn at Harry, Malfoy, Crabbe, Nott, Goyle, Pucey, Bletchley, Elsa and Alicia.

"I won't have you lurking around the common room. If you won't join in with the others, then you can make a timetable of activities for the next two days. Give it to me at lunch for my approval. _Don't_ include anything that needs my supervision."

The curt tone disappointed the girls, as did the implied message they'd see little of their housemaster. The boys, on the other hand, had no problem seeing little of him but they did object to having to supply him with a timetable. Give Snape that and who knew when he'd turn up checking they were where they'd said they'd be - and they couldn't say where they really hoped to be. Scotched plans made Bletchley kick the ottoman in frustration.

"Yes, Mr Bletchley?"

"Cramp in my foot, sir."

"Really." Said a disbelieving Snape.

As he walked out, the girls shuffled round to continue hiding Mrs Norris. He reached the door and called out.

"You'd better not have taken Mrs Norris without Mr Filch's permission _again_."

"No sir, we didn't."

"Are you certain of that?"

"Yes sir." Said Alicia.

Malfoy waited until the door closed and turned on them.

"You didn't ask Filch!"

"If I had, he would've said yes. Same difference." Said Alicia.

"Not to Snape, it isn't; it's lying to Snape, and you know what he does to liars."

They looked at one another, then scooped up Mrs Norris and raced to the door.

"Idiots!" Said Nott.

"A bit harsh."

Harry smiled as he looked at the door. He had a soft spot for the girls. It felt nice having them around; made it feel like a family. But, truth be told, he was a lot more interested in what the boys were trying to accomplish than dressing up hideous Mrs Norris. Suddenly, the escape plan changed from a bit of fun into something more serious. There's nothing like having an impediment placed in your path to make you re-double your efforts, and they set about finding ways to undermine Snape's detailed plan request. After reaching several dead ends, Malfoy threw himself back on the sofa.

"We'll never manage it. We're screwed!"

"Don't start whining, Malfoy."

Pucey and Bletchley began teasing the Platinum Pouter's propensity for self pity. Harry didn't see it; Malfoy had been a snivelling, whiny sneak in the first and second years, but he seemed to have grown up a bit. Still, the ragging was light-hearted and though he'd softened towards Malfoy, he was always on board for a bit of fun at his expense. The conversation turned from Malfoy's whinging to his unerring ability to hatch plans that never worked out. The next few minutes were great as Malfoy's more notable backfires were roundly mocked.

"The 'duel'! Remember that?!"

"Never landed a blow on you there, Potter - but Snape landed several on him!"

"Sneaking out after curfew to tell McGonagall Potter was out after curfew! Sublime logic!"

That had everyone laughing, including Malfoy.

"Old McGonagall got me good for that one!"

Crabbe leaned over and poked Malfoy.

"Remember that quidditch match when you were so busy slagging off Potter, you didn't see the snitch right next to your ear?!"

"Marcus got me good for that one."

Malfoy winced at the memory.

"Where is he? He said he'd come back and see us." Said Goyle.

"If he's fallen into line with his father, we don't want to see him." Said Crabbe.

Crabbe's tone as he said those words set a pall on the Snakes. Harry sneaked a look under his fringe and saw them lost, reflecting on whatever awfulness Flint's falling into line with his father entailed. Then Pucey shook his head briskly.

"Alicia and Elsa are taking a long time. Let's see what they're up to."

Out into the corridor they went, up the spiral staircase and across the entrance hall. To the right of the great doors lay Filch's HQ. Mrs Norris was buffing the door, annoyed no one would open it. Once salmon was off the agenda, she wasn't nearly so accommodating.

"We can't get her back!" Said Elsa.

"How did you get her out in the first place?" Asked Bletchley.

"She clawed up the curtain and came through that window for the salmon."

"Can't we just shove her back through the window?" Asked Archie, who'd suddenly appeared.

"What are you doing sneaking around by yourself?!" Demanded Nott. "You should be in the common room, or up with McGonagall."

"I'm not sneaking!" Protested the first-year.

Nott grabbed his jumper and gave him a shake.

"You know Snape's rules; we should take you to him and tell him you've been going around the castle on your own!"

The rest of boys thought that a bit rich - considering what they were trying to scheme up.

"Steady on, Nott." Said Pucey, "Archie's just trying to help Alicia and Elsa, I expect."

Nott let go, and everyone looked up at the high, little window - and then down at grumpy Mrs Norris. She looked about a hundred and ninety-two; shove her through the window and her spindly legs would snap like dried twigs. She might well have been the most cantankerous animal in existence, but no one could do that to her. Pucey pulled out his wand and tried it on the door - to no avail.

Filch was a squib, but he was no fool. His doors and windows were warded, courtesy of Dumbledore, against the _Alohamora_ charm. However, it wasn't warded against muggle-learnt ingenuity. Harry had often had to break out of rooms and cupboards when the dreadful Dursleys had gone out and forgotten him. With the aid of Alicia's hairgrip, he made short work of the door lock. The girls twittered in appreciation of his prowess and Archie was moved to _hip_ , _hip_ _hooray_. Malfoy wanted to slap the awestruck first-year, but settled for knocking him against the door frame as they all clambered inside Filch's quarters.

Mrs Norris reclaimed her favourite armchair and Elsa, Alicia and Archie were sent back to the common room. Harry shut the door behind them, and then stood transfixed at a detailed plan of all the student hiding spots in Hogwarts Filch had uncovered. It was quite a piece of work. The hidey holes were marked in red ink, while the nearest floos were highlighted in green. Purple signalled dead ends and permanently barred doorways. He had clear memories of being flushed into one of those dead ends by Filch, and the week's worth of detentions that followed. Scanning the chart again, he noted his third floor alcove wasn't marked.

"So that's how he does it!" Said Harry.

"Does what?"

The boys all huddled around to inspect Filch's handiwork.

"Who can cast a copying charm?" Malfoy had a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I want my own; might come in handy."

'Haven't we just been through how your sneaky plans always fall flat? Sometimes, Malfoy, I think you're hell-bent on getting your arse blistered." Said Bletchley.

"Actually, I thought it may be useful in case someone disappears. We could put an entry into _The Slytherin Bible_. You know what this place is like; someone could sneak off somewhere and then the wall seals up."

It was a fair point, but no one believed it was Malfoy's goal in copying the chart. Still, they had enough sense not to back anyone into a corner and nodded, allowing Malfoy to keep some dignity.

"Hold on." Said Harry, "Filch is a squib; can he even use the floo?"

"Course he can." Pucey answered. "Muggles could use one if they knew where to look. It's the floo and the powder that are magical."

Hearing that caused Harry to drift off into his own private thoughts. How good would it be to bundle Uncle Vernon into a floo and have him come face to face with a whole castle full of 'freaks'? He snapped to when Malfoy started sighing melodramatically.

"I have a plan. But what's the use? You won't want to hear it." He said.

They did want to hear it, but Malfoy was enjoying the moment too much to spill his idea easily. After a few minutes of cajoling, the dungeon diva was still keeping mum. However, repeated stinging hexes to his earlobes saw him lay out his plan - and it wasn't half bad.

They would present Snape with a schedule that included their usual activities and some they knew he'd forbid - to allay any suspicions. They'd claim that they'd been worn down by Alicia and Elsa's repeated requests to teach them the dance steps from the Yule Ball. As such they were going off to one of the library reading rooms to dance away the afternoon. The girls would be instructed to plead with Snape to join them as they wanted to put on a Slytherin dance show for the rest of the professors after supper that included their housemaster. That little nugget was guaranteed to keep Snape from turning up.

And how to pass unnoticed through the Filch blockade? Simple, said Malfoy. Potter breaks into Snape's cupboard, nabs his dad's cloak and goes back and forth with an extra person at a time under the cloak.

"Get lost! It's your plan; _you_ do it!"

"Well, if you're too scared,"

"Hang on. We've been here before." Said Crabbe, recalling the 'Durmstrang Fiasco'. "In any case, we don't need the cloak. Filch will be back to give Mrs Norris her lunch at one. We'll leave then."

It was just enough of a rule-breach to add some spice to the afternoon, a nice little F U to Snape. Hogsmeade wasn't far, a twenty minute walk, fifteen if they stepped up the pace.

"Are we just walking there and back?" Asked Goyle.

Good question. What was their plan? They hadn't made one; it hadn't been real before.

"We've got to be careful where we go." Said Malfoy, "We can't be seen."

Harry nearly laughed; now it was real, Malfoy was panicking. But he didn't. Truth was, he was a bit panicked too. Not about seeing Grubbly-Plank or Sinistra, it was coming face-to-face with Hermione that worried him - she'd go mental. But really it was just a stroll; none of them were in any danger. Archie wasn't going to be there; what was the problem? No, he told himself. Keep a look-out for Hermione; she wouldn't see it like that.

"We need to get something." Said Harry, "It has to be a quest!"

"A 'quest'?! How noble!" Laughed Pucey.

These kind of ventures were, after all, Harry's speciality. He soon came up with an idea.

"How about this? Everyone has to come back with a Pixie Puff, a Pumpkin Fizz, a Jelly Slug and a Liquorice Wand!"

"You're on!" Said Bletchley.

"Pfft!"

Harry would have bet his Gringott's account on that ' _pfft'_. He turned to its source.

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"We're a bit old for sweets, aren't we? I say we have to go into _The Hog's Head_ and get a drink!"

You prat, thought Harry. You're already terrified, but you have to go one better just to have a pop at me.

There was no time for another Potter-Malfoy showdown, so Pucey stepped in to arbitrate. _The Hog's Head_ was Plan A, the sweets Plan B. It was settled, and a tingle of excitement ran through them all. Well … all except one.

"What's so great about Hogsmeade? We've all been plenty of times." Said Theo. "No, forget it. If we get caught, Snape'll murder us. I'm not going."

"Too late for that." Announced Malfoy, "You know about the plan. Once you know the plan, you're in."

So Nott became the look-out. He'd sit on the entrance hall window seat. A red cushion propped between him and the glass would mean Filch was feeding Mrs Norris and it was safe to leave. The same cushion at 3pm meant it was safe to return.

"Remember," Said Malfoy to Nott, "if we get caught, you're in for it, too."

They banished the buzz of excitement before going back to the common room; they didn't intend to share their plans with anyone. Archie wasn't around - probably got fed up of Nott picking on him and went back to McGonagall. So all that remained was to negotiate with Alicia and Elsa. The boys were well chuffed when they agreed at once, but there was a catch. They groaned as Alicia laid out the terms; she wanted the dance tuition for real in the evening - she was desperate to show off in front of Astoria. And, being a Slytherin, she held out for more: a ride for each of them on the back of Harry's broom, _and_ first dibs on Malfoy's Friday parcel.

The plan worked like a charm. Unfortunately, the charm it came to resemble was one of Gilderoy Lockhart's …


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N:** As ever, huge thanks to guests and **Hamlet**!

 **Chapter 29**

 **The Most Dangerous Commodity in the World**

 **After lunch, 12:45 pm, the Great Hall**

"Oh _come_ on, sir! We can really stick it to those hoity toity Gryffindorks; show 'em who the best house is!"

"Admirable sentiments, Miss Mayhew." Said Snape, "But I shan't be joining you in your dance class."

"Your loss." Said Alicia.

"Indeed, and I'll try to bear it manfully."

Snape gave a rueful almost-smile as Alicia walked away. She couldn't behave herself for longer than a day, but the child had spirit.

"What's she got on you?" he asked the boys.

" _Nothing_! We … umm … we just felt sorry for her, that's all." Babbled Bletchley.

He didn't believe a word; Mayhew had rumbled a scam. But as long as they stayed within the grounds, he didn't have the energy to care. In any case, they were allowed to be disappointed; he would've been in their position. He went back to perusing the proposed timetable.

"No, no and definitely no. Enjoy the dancing, gentlemen!"

And with that, he was off - shortly followed by the boys.

 **oOo**

 **1:05 pm, the Owlery**

It was a cosy nest up in the owlery. They'd been given blankets, pumpkin juice, a humongous stash of Malfoy's unwanted sweets - _and_ strict instructions not to step a toe outside until fetched.

"What do you think they're up to?" Asked Elsa when they were alone.

"Gotta be Hogsmeade." Said Alicia, "They're idiots, but what can you do?"

She tossed a few more Fudge Flies into her already full mouth.

"They'll get in _heaps_ of trouble!" Said Elsa.

"Only if they get caught …" Alicia thought some more, "Yeah, probs."

"What about us?!" Asked Elsa.

"What have _we_ done?"

"We fibbed to Snape."

"No … no, we obeyed Pucey, and Snape's always telling us to do as the prefects say. We're in the clear. Here, have a Chocoball."

Elsa nibbled and thought.

"It's easier for you, Lissy; you get in trouble all the time."

"How's that easier for me?!"

"I dunno, you're used to Snape scolding and whacking you."

Alicia rolled her eyes, and then shot forward to peer from the stone embrasure.

"Is that them?"

Far below the girls, six blurred specks were moving from a copse onto open heath.

 **oOo**

 **En route to Hogsmeade, 1:10 pm**

That exhilarating first step out of bounds, one of school's great joys! An adult needs to rob a bank, or covet his neighbour's oxen to get a similar rush. It wasn't just a Snape rule they were breaking - they were so multifarious, it was hard to get through they day without breaking at least seven. This was a Hogwarts' rule they'd broken - the second they'd climbed the wall. Brilliant! They were outlaws, and they treated their new status with appropriate seriousness. Pucey and Crabbe were at the vanguard, Bletchley and Goyle at the rear, with Potter taking the right flank, and Malfoy the left.

Harry'd almost laughed when Bletchley and Pucey had insisted on the military-like formation. What a palaver! They were only going for a short stroll! Then he had a rethink. Yeah, but they were doing it without any help from invisibility cloaks, or secret passages. No one whispered helpful information to the Snakes; they relied on each other. All the same, he couldn't keep the smirk off his face as he looked left and saw Malfoy's rising panic.

 **oOo**

Why can't I keep my bloody mouth shut, thought Draco Malfoy. We could've gone in, nabbed a few sweets and been back at Hogwarts in no time. But no, I had to one-up Potter. What was I thinking?! Snape's going to have a fit if he finds out.

They kept off the main path, and skirted the woodland that nestled Hogsmeade to arrive at the rear of _The Hog's Head_. Not its prettiest aspect - it was a walled yard full of broken tables, crates, barrels, and the stench of stale ale. Draco wrinkled his nose. I'm like my father, blathering on and pretending. I'm not brave; I'd be like Longbottom if I didn't have Crabbe and Goyle. Potter's brave. Malfoy stayed ensconced in his self-revelations, as the conversation swirled around him.

"It's empty! Right we are, lads; let's get inside!" Said Goyle.

"It's so quiet." Remarked Pucey, "Where is everyone?"

"It _is_ quiet; what sort of festival is this?" Asked Bletchley.

"They're all down the hill. Look." Said Crabbe.

Potter hadn't spoken, Draco realised. Bloody hell, he's probably inside already, helping himself to the firewhisky, and I'll be the only one too chicken to go in. He chanced a sly glance, and found Potter was still outside - looking scared stiff. _Woo hoo_! Potter looked like he was going to sick up any moment!

 **oOo**

Is that what I look like when I'm wandering round Hogwarts? Why haven't I been caught more often?! Harry always suspected Mrs Norris could 'sense' him in his cloak. He realised now she couldn't; she was just at eye level with his sodding feet! Harry stared at two black trainers and 3 centimetres of purple and red striped socks shuffling in the pub yard. Thanks for the cloak, dad, but it isn't half a stupid design. How are you supposed to walk and keep your feet covered?

 **oOo**

Draco Malfoy was his own worst enemy - fact. Self-revelation was one thing; acting on it was another.

"Scared, Potter?!" Smirked the Platinum One.

"Yeah … yeah, I am."

That honesty shocked all of them. They looked, then followed the line of Harry's finger. _Oh, shitting hell_!

Harry leaned forward and yanked off the cloak.

" _Archie_!" Snarled Malfoy, "What are you doing here?!"

"And how did you get this?" Asked Harry, shaking the cloak.

"I stayed outside Mr Filch's office. The window was open; I heard you talking."

"Snape's gonna need a new slipper after this." Groaned Crabbe.

"No. We won't get the slipper for this … it'll be worse …"

When 'bright and breezy' Adrian Pucey gave such a bleak assessment, everyone took note. The group set about first panicking, then blaming each other, and finally deciding what to do. They could draw lots to choose a person to go back with a cloaked Archie. But Nott wouldn't be ready for them, and they weren't sure of Filch's whereabouts. Harry could go on ahead under the cloak, and tell them if it was safe to follow. But after seeing Archie's feet, he wasn't so keen, especially in this blustery weather - the cloak would blow all over the place. Then again, why call it off and go back? The pub was empty; they were running the same risk if they stayed a while and completed the 'quest'.

"May as well go in, eh?" Suggested Goyle.

He had a point. The wind had picked up, and the rain was almost horizontal. Goyle, Crabbe, Pucey and Bletchley piled inside. Harry and Malfoy stayed out standing guard, along with wet, cold and severely chided Archie - his punishment for almost effing up the plan.

 **oOo**

Harry was pissed off with Archie. He hated the thought of anyone taking his dad's cloak, but he was no hypocrite, either. He'd disobeyed rules and taken things he shouldn't enough times. So when Malfoy started telling the first-year all the awful things they were going to do to him back in the dungeons, Harry silently pulled him away and let Malfoy rant at the wind.

The ranting made him feel a bit better. Archie had got there unseen; he could get back unseen, surely? He _had_ to; taking a first-year out of bounds would drive Snape to apoplexy. It'd mean the cane; he knew what Pucey was getting at. Stop thinking like this, he told himself. We'll be back in the dungeons soon. He pulled his jacket tighter, and swept the wet hair from his face. Well, there was a sight to cheer him. Why had they ever been upset at not being allowed to come here?!

What a dreary spectacle this 'festivity' was; he was tickled pink! All the town's children lined up by age, and all of Hogwarts sorted into year groups. But his delight at the rest of the school having a rotten time was quickly dampened. Something was off here. Why the compulsion to listen to speeches? Why the arrow-straight rows? He'd been to plenty of Ministry functions with his dad. No one listened to speeches; it was an opportunity to snaffle more canapés and hobnob. He looked for Potter to see what he made of it all, but Golden Boy and Archie had wandered over by the beer barrels.

Draco turned back, and saw a figure stride from between the rows. Hard to make out at that distance if it was anyone he knew. To his left he heard Archie whining about how he couldn't see anything. For God's sake, Potter; just give him a whack! He kept his eyes on the Ministry man far ahead; something about the way he walked, and his sharp head turns frightened Malfoy. He couldn't make out who it was, but he'd seen his like before; those nameless, faceless men that came to the Manor late at night. A chill went through him.

There was a scuffling noise, followed by a cry. Archie had stood on the barrels, but they were empty and didn't support even his light weight. He plunged down between them, causing two to come loose from the stack. Malfoy watched in alarm as they rolled down the shingle path, picking up speed and getting louder and louder. He glanced over the wall; the man had heard the barrels and was coming up to _The Hog's Head_ at a hell of a clip. _And_ with a wand thrust out. Who did that at a festival? This wasn't good.

He couldn't shout; the man was close enough to hear now. He waved his arms, but Potter saw nothing, too busy pulling Archie from the mass of barrels. Draco ran to the pub door, " _Hide_!" They thought it was Snape, and ducked into cupboards instantly. The man was fifty yards away. Draco went to pull his wand from his sleeve. _Shit_! They were outside school; the Underage Sorcery Decree would see the Ministry onto them in no time. He backed away, ready to run to the trees behind. And then he stopped. He was scared, but he'd had a lifetime of being scared and another emotion bloomed amongst the fear: anger. He'd sneaked out of school; he hadn't hexed anyone! An irate Snape was one thing, but not this.

"Potter!" Malfoy called.

The rest of the barrels had started rolling and Harry didn't hear a thing. Bollocks! Draco hurtled across the yard, grabbed Potter's arm and plucked up Archie by his collar. They raced to the trees just as the man came tearing into the yard. "Cloak!" whispered Malfoy hoarsely. Harry pulled it from his pocket, and unfurled it as Malfoy yanked all of them to the ground.

They lay as tight as possible, Harry almost in Draco's lap and Archie clinging to his side. He clamped his hand over Archie's mouth to stifle a gasp when the menacing black boots trod the long grass. Their assailant swished his wand, casting bolts of blue that set the ground sizzling, and the three sat petrified. But an odd thing went through Draco's head. This was awful and terrifying. But as bad as it was, it wasn't as bad as running away. He was glad he was here with Potter and Archie; it was much easier than living with the knowledge you're a shit.

After what felt like hours, the boots and their owner retreated, and Malfoy got a look at him. But there was nothing to give away his identity - a long black cloak, scarf and hat meant it could have been anyone. The only thing he did know was it wasn't his dad. Lucius would have taken any number of crucios before he put on a pair of such un-stylish boots. That knowledge gave him the courage to shrug off the cloak, and go to the others.

"We've got to get out of here!"

 **oOo**

 **Anteroom to the Great Hall, 2:30 pm**

"What's _he_ doing here?!"

Nott looked aghast at Archie, and it only got worse as Malfoy told him what happened.

"Did you see his face?!"

Malfoy's reply in the negative calmed him a little, but he still punched Archie on the arm, and not even Harry or Pucey raised an objection. Instead, they sank onto the hard wooden benches that lined the room, and stared straight ahead thinking how close they'd come to facing the madman from the Ministry, and the wrath of Severus Snape.

But relief's a peculiar emotion; it's so short-lived. No sooner are you thankful, than your mind begins to ask 'what if?'

"What would that man have done if he'd caught us?" Asked Potter.

No one knew.

"What was he after anyway? Why would he be interested in a load of school kids?" Puzzled Goyle.

Did any of the Snakes know about the mirror? Harry took off his glasses under the guise of cleaning them, and ran them along the length of the wooden benches, seeing the magnified reactions of the others. Anything? Not particularly. Some looked perplexed, some looked worried. Or maybe it was a bit of both? Or maybe he just couldn't tell.

The one thing no one mentioned was Snape; they all thought about him, though. What would he do if he knew? Harry was certain he'd be sent packing back to Gryffindor, possibly after the mother of all thrashings. Pucey couldn't believe his own stupidity, and his rotten luck. Snape had told him to carry on as normal and observe, but he was pretty certain he hadn't meant observe a first-year nearly being kidnapped by an insane Death Eater. Why had it been Archie that tagged along? Why not Malcolm, or Alicia? They were constantly misbehaving. Though he hated the prospect, Pucey would take a caning; he'd dish one out himself in Snape's shoes. But would it end there? Or would Snape expel him? He couldn't go back home; it was the worst place on earth. Would he have the guts to escape to the continent like his brother Charlie and his sister Emmy?

Draco's new found bravery didn't extend to not feeling bereft at the thought of expulsion from Slytherin. Damn it! Why hadn't he taken Archie back to Hogwarts the second Potter pulled the cloak off him? He knew about the mirror; he knew that Snape knew, and he knew that something had changed this day. It had been a step too far. Snape had given him the thrashing of his life when he'd tried to hex Potter back in September; this was so much worse. Malfoy Manor wasn't his home. His home was here, with Millicent bossing him around, Bletchley and Latimer teasing him, and Alicia Mayhew annoying him to death. And so it went; each person in the room reflecting on the loss they'd feel. It was a long time before anyone spoke, and when they did, it was Pucey.

"An odd little excursion, eh?! But it's over now!"

A little forced, lacking his usual injection of breeziness, but top marks for trying, Pucey.

"Not quite." Said Harry, "How long until Snape notices this is missing?"

He held up the cloak, and the whole room groaned.

"It was easy to get." Assured Archie, "Professor Snape's working in his classroom."

Malfoy, still a little buoyed by his above-and-beyond act of bravery, volunteered to replace the cloak. No one was trusting Archie.

"You just need to make sure AB's not there." Said the first-year.

" _What_?!" Cried Bletchley.

"AB." Repeated Archie, "He's been helping Professor Snape all day. I heard them talking when I came back from Professor McGonagall, _and_ when I got the cloak."

"Why didn't you tell us before?!"

"You never asked!"

The day's maelstrom of emotions was draining them fast. The vindictiveness of the planning, the excitement of the escape, the shock at Archie's appearance, the fear of the madman and all that his presence entailed, the fleeting relief, the sense of desolation, and now this … the spurious nature and ultimate futility of the whole Hogsmeade trip laid bare. Bletchley was close to tears, and it got worse when Crabbe spoke.

"That's why Snape stopped the Hogsmeade visit … he knew our dads would be there. You know the madman was one of them, don't you?"

The silence of the room was a tacit acceptance of his words. You poor bastards, thought Harry. A dead dad's got to be better than a dad you want dead.

 **oOo**

Thank God Snape had made them write out a timetable; keeping to that was the only thing that shifted their leaden bodies off the benches. They were due on the practice pitch, and so Harry, Crabbe, Goyle and Bletchley trudged to the changing rooms, taking Archie with them. Nott had apparently left a book of Millicent's on the window seat, and needed to take it back to the common room. Pucey went to get some strapping for his ankle; he'd hurt it in the race back from Hogsmeade, and Malfoy had to replace the cloak.

 **oOo**

 **The dungeons, 3:00 pm**

It was another close shave for Malfoy. He sneaked from Snape's office through to his study, and then realised the interconnecting door to his classroom was open. The cloak was over him, but what to do when he replaced it? The cupboard door creaked as he opened it. Snape heard.

"Did you leave the cupboard open?"

"Sorry, sir; I must've done. Shall I close it?"

"No. There are no students around."

Draco bet Snape kept the hinges creaky on purpose. He then set about re-placing the cloak in the prescribed manner: patterned side out, folded into a triangle, on the right of the third shelf, and overhanging by two inches. Silently edging through the door, he flattened himself against the wall of the study and got out without even breathing.

 **oOo**

They'd spent fourteen long hours agonizing over the Wolfsbane. Working with Snape was certainly interesting; the man was preternaturally gifted with potions. But he was also the moodiest person on the planet. Snape had roared at AB for humming quietly whilst simmering the shrivelled figs; if AB didn't treat the task with reverence, he could get out. He'd kept shtum after that, only for Snape to complain he'd have livelier companions in St Mungo's morgue. So AB gauged Snape's moods and modified his own to fit. When Snape was frustrated, he was frustrated. When Snape felt pessimistic, so did he. But that backfired, too.

" _Stop that_! _Two dismal bastards haven't got a hope in hell of cracking this_ ; _just be you_!"

 **oOo**

The dark heads stared at the cauldron and willed the fumes to change from green to even the vaguest hint of blue. Unsuccessfully.

"We've diced, sliced, crushed, shredded and pared, sir. We're running out of options."

"We were most probably out of options at two o'clock this morning, Peter." Snape replied gloomily.

"Oh, buck up, Severus!"

Snape dropped his spatula.

"Severus? _Severus_? Have you been breathing in too many fumes, Mister Armitage-Brown?!"

I must've been; what the hell was I thinking? Thought AB. The room went so quiet he swore he heard the fumes rising. And then he heard something else, a deep chuckle from his companion.

"Well?" Demanded Snape.

"Well what, sir?"

"Tell me something to make me 'buck up'!"

And, gloriously, a thought came to mind.

"We know the properties of Lady's Mantle; it _should_ perform the same as the mistletoe berries. We've tried every way there is of preparing it …"

"Go on." Encouraged Snape.

"Well, maybe it's not the cut at all. Maybe it's the equipment we've been using."

"You could be on to something, Peter."

They ransacked the classroom for different utensils, a silver paring knife, glass cannulas infused with unicorn hair, copper flasks, pewter tongs. Severus even dug out some pipettes, the barrels of which were made from spun Acromantula web. They'd been the next great advance in potions-making in the seventies, and then disappeared without trace. With the pipettes came a memory of days long past.

On his last day as a Slytherin student, Lucius Malfoy had taken sad, little Severus aside and given him a solid silver cauldron.

" _Cheer up, Severus. That's a Malfoy family heirloom. So you see, you and I are not truly parting; your ownership of that makes you part of the Malfoy family."_

It was one of the few gifts he'd received as a child, and certainly the most expensive. Severus treasured it too much to use it; he kept it hidden. Lucius had been kind and loyal, and it had cut Severus like a knife when he left. Some years later, he saw racks of the same cauldron for sale in Diagon Alley, and he realised the heirloom tale, along with so much of Lucius, was pure bunkum. But in an odd way, that made the gift all the more precious. Severus ranked flaws higher than perfection; a person who's never struggled with darkness is never truly able to understand good.

"Sir? Sir?"

Armitage-Brown was calling him. He fought his way out of reverie.

"Is that all the equipment, sir? Shall I start decanting the potion into smaller amounts?"

"Not quite all … I have something else in my rooms."

 **oOo**

 **Quidditch practice pitch, 3:40 pm**

"Where've you _been_?!" Malfoy asked Nott.

"I told you; I had to replace Millicent's book. You know what she's like."

"Took you long enough." Grumbled Malfoy, "Block the goal; this lot are slaughtering us, and I'm not losing to Archie. Not after the trouble he's caused."

The boys had slowly eased off their mantle of misery, and were playing four-a-side quidditch. Malfoy had his usual undersupply of equanimity at being on the losing side, but his fortunes were about to change.

"Oh, bugger! The girls! They're still in the owlery!" Cried Harry, pulling up abruptly on his broom.

"Better go up and get them, then! Chop, chop!" Smirked Draco.

It was his only real chance at catching the snitch, with Potter off the field. And he wasn't too proud to take it.

 **oOo**

 **The Owlery, 4:00 pm**

" _Finally_!"

Alicia Mayhew was desperate for the lavatory, but she still stopped to turn around and hurl some exploding bonbons in Harry's face.

"Sorry!" Called Harry, hovering on his broom, "We've just got back!"

"Rubbish!" Shouted Alicia, as she went clattering down the stairs, "You didn't go out in quidditch gear; you forgot us!"

Harry ate two of the bonbons he'd caught, and wondered why he'd bothered trying to fool Alicia. She was a first-year, but sharp as a tack. He zoomed off, hoping the Platinum Prat hadn't got the snitch.

 **oOo**

 **Slytherin corridor, 4:10 pm**

" _Whoa_!"

Alicia threw herself against the wall as Snape charged past, almost trampling Elsa. He pulled up in time, picked her up under her arms, and spun her around in a circle.

"My apologies, Miss Tobin! How are you?"

"Fine! You look happy, sir!" Giggled Elsa.

"There is a vague possibility of late sunshine on the horizon!"

He turned to Alicia.

"And how's my little mischief-maker? Are you going to show me the dance steps you've learnt?"

Alicia heard Elsa's breath catch. But fortunately for Potter and his crew, _she_ was the youngest of six siblings, and as such, a dab hand at covering up the wrongdoings of others. She leapt forward at once,

"Yes, I _will_!"

and grasped Snape's hands,

"But only if you partner me, sir!"

Podgy Alicia Mayhew stamping all over his feet? The very same feet he'd been standing up on for aeons to stir and check that damn potion? No, no, no. Snape patted her head, smiled, and politely deferred that treat for another time. He made for his rooms, and what he hoped would be the key to the Wolfsbane conundrum.

 **oOo**

The silver cauldron tucked under his arm, Snape was walking back to the classroom via his office when he stopped. Something was bothering him about Mayhew and Tobin. Why had they been alone? They should have been with Pucey and the boys. And what was Alicia Mayhew doing with that bag of sweets? Her family never sent Friday parcels. He thought about Elsa; she was a shy child, but why gasp when he asked to see the dancing? Because maybe they never damn well learned any dances. Clever, little Alicia Mayhew had stepped into the breach and called his bluff.

All conjecture, of course, but Severus had a nose for subterfuge. The second he opened his office door, conjecture turned into outright suspicion. The unmistakable smell of Pungous onion permeated the room. How? Looking around, he saw a conical flask on its side, the contents dripping onto the stone. It made no sense. His heart rate picked up as he walked into his study. The cupboard door was wide open, and he saw it immediately: Potter's blasted cloak, unfolded, on the second shelf instead of the third.

Potter knew where the cloak was kept. Snape had led him right to it the night he wanted the boy to go into the Dark Forest and see the dragons. The boy had replaced it, and Snape had trusted him to leave it alone. More fool him. He knew exactly what had gone on today, and it made him furious. Duped by Potter, and outfoxed by eleven-year-old Alicia Mayhew. Snape moved several degrees beyond furious.

There was a little-used cabinet behind Snape's desk, but he went straight to it that afternoon. The last time he'd opened it was three years ago with Marcus Flint, and the only time before that with Dominic Aspinall and Gertrude Howell in 1982. He pulled out the cane, and stood flexing it just as AB knocked and came through the door.

"Sir? Did you get the silver … _oh_ …"

"On the office work bench, Mister Armitage-Brown."

Snape nodded towards the office, but AB didn't move.

"It's entirely warranted; I can assure you of that."

Snape gave the cane a single swish to test its efficacy, and left.

 **oOo**

 **Quidditch practice pitch, 4:30 pm**

They were too busy arguing over the score to see him come, but that happy state of affairs didn't last. The boys felt their brooms drift towards the ground. When they stood before him, it was Harry who was firmly in Snape's sights, but as the housemaster remained silent and slowly held up the shimmering fabric, it was Archie who gave the tell-tale whimper and groan.

"My study. All of you."

 **oOo**

 **Slytherin common room, 5:10 pm**

What the hell's happened, Potter? Millicent stood on the steps and looked behind her. Sophie and Latimer gave a 'we don't know, either' shake of their heads. In front of them all, Alicia and Elsa stood next to an armchair, staring at their feet. The door flew open and Snape rushed the boys in. Alicia and Elsa leapt back as he took hold of Bletchley and bent him over the armchair.

It was, thought Millicent, like the car crash she'd once been in with her Muggle mother - so quick, and yet time seemed to slow, highlighting every action and reaction. The whole house held their breaths at the cane's rapid flight through the air, flinched in unison at the dull thud, and winced as Bletchley grimaced through each of the six stinging strokes. They all got it, even Archie. And then Snape turned to Elsa and Alicia.

"You lied, and you obfuscated."

Alicia saw Elsa give a brave nod. If she can do this, I can, she thought. They got two each - and it hurt like the blazes.

" _No one_ leaves the castle grounds without permission!"

He left the common room without another word.

 **Snape's rooms**

Severus closed the door, and leant back upon it. He looked at the cane he still held. Nope, didn't regret a damn thing. He didn't regret caning them, nor did he regret doing it in front of the entire house. As soon as he'd seen Delingpole, he knew the child had been to Hogsmeade. And when the truth had come out, it had taken all his reserves not to lash out at the young fools. So, no. No regrets.

Yet Malfoy's reports of the 'man in black' came as a relief to Snape, not as callous as it sounds. He didn't have the luxury of indulging his emotions; he had to be pragmatic. And pragmatically-speaking, this was a good thing. It meant Marcus's father, Jasper Flint, had given him sound intelligence. The Dark Lord was coming back; the race was on for the mirror. His Snakes would need to stay in line if they were to have any hope of surviving the grim times ahead. Walking into his sitting room, he placed the cane on his table and stood by the fire.

Should he expel Bletchley? The boy admitted inciting the others into going to Hogsmeade, and all over not being made prefect. Severus felt like giving him another six. But if he expelled Bletchley, why not the others? They'd willingly joined him. He looked down at his forearm, and the mark upon it. Blind followers were every bit as dangerous as instigators in Snape's book. Worse even. They had distance at their disposal; they could see the madness from afar, and if they chose to follow a mad man to sate their own pathetic needs, then they deserved the same fate.

Bletchley and the others hadn't intended Delingpole to go, but so what? Intentions meant nothing. By their actions they'd disobeyed Snape, and nearly brought about catastrophe. It was unforgivable. He'd be justified in getting rid of the lot of them. Rage at their stupidity welled within him once more. He closed his eyes, dropped his forehead to the cool of the marble mantel and thought. When someone does something unforgivable, the only sane response is to forgive. What's the alternative? Devote your life to being bitter? He'd tried that … and found the outcome less than desirable.

 **oOo**

A pot of tea and seven cigarettes of contemplation later found Snape in a more forgiving mood. The boys' actions that afternoon had scared him, but nowhere near as much as they'd scared the boys. He thought of how he'd left them back in the common room, shocked and sore. Deservedly so, but it wouldn't do to keep them like that. Alienated and unforgiven children were the most dangerous commodity in the world; abandon them and you have no idea who they'll cleave to for acceptance.

He didn't know if any of them would make it through to the other side, but regardless, he and his house were in this together. Time to grant absolution and draw them back into the fold. Shortly he'd be off to check on the cretinous Delingpoles. He couldn't leave it like this. He dried his tea cup and put it back in the cupboard. The cupboard … why was Potter's cloak on the second shelf of his store cupboard? Malfoy had replaced it; there was no way he'd make such a basic error. And what had been happening with the Pungous onion? The more Severus thought on it, the more hopeful he felt.

 **oOo**

 **The common room, 6:00 pm**

Diminished. That's how they looked. The usual skylarking, bragging and bickering had left the room. Snape knew first-hand how much a decent caning hurt, but it wasn't bad enough to provoke this reaction. Had more happened in Hogsmeade than he'd been told?

Most of the students were on the carpet, the sofas having been commandeered by the recently-punished, who lay prone, keeping any pressure off their aching backsides. But they all drooped like pillows with too few feathers in them. There was some murmuring, but most were silent - though Vincent Crabbe was making a gallant attempt at cheering Delingpole,

"Look at it this way, Archie." Crabbe said softly, "You're only half-way through your first year, and you've already had six of the best from Snape: you're the toughest kid in Hogwarts!"

Red-rimmed eyes turned to Crabbe.

"Am I? I wish I wasn't."

"Snape won't boot you out of Hogwarts." Said Goyle, "It was our fault; we'll be the ones going."

So that was it.

He left the darkened corner of the common room, and strode to the middle. Students began to stand, but he waved them back down.

"Stay sitting. After much consideration, I have an unpleasant announcement to make …"

It was Snape's tone that alarmed his house; it had lost its trademark vituperative edge. Pansy looked to Draco, and tears welled in her eyes. This is it, thought all the boys.

"It occurs to me," Said Snape, "that I am the most aggrieved head of house in Hogwarts."

There'd been a near-imperceptible shift in tone, but it was just enough to kindle hope.

"Not only do I have a prefect who will undoubtedly go down in the annals of history as the most idiotic,"

 _Safe_! No one was being expelled. The second Snape sneered and insulted, everything in their Slytherin world was right again.

" … I also have students incapable of behaving themselves for longer than the life-cycle of a mayfly."

Millicent started it. She leant over and surreptitiously poked Potter on his caned backside. He 'ouched!' and before long, nine more hisses and 'ouches' spread around the room. A textbook example of Slytherin forgiveness.

"And the rest of you!"

What had _they_ done? They awaited Snape's accusation with glee.

"You abandoned me! A whole day spent scurrying after Professor McGonagall, flirting with Professor Flitwick and, no doubt, confiding in Professor Sprout about your … disappointing housemaster."

They snickered at the egregious self-pity, and waited for more.

"As if this treachery wasn't enough, not one of you has come up with a decent plan for how we shall entertain ourselves tomorrow. What callous brutes you all are!"

"We're spending the whole day together?!" Asked Malcolm Baddock.

"This is Slytherin House," Answered Snape, "and Slytherin House sticks together."


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N 1:** Hope you had a lovely holiday, Hamlet. Thanks for the review. Thanks to 'Fan', Mackiechandler and other guests too.

 **A/N 2:** It is a bit of a mystery as to who moved the cloak, but all will be revealed eventually!

 **Chapter 30**

 **The Mirror**

 **Hogwarts Castle, February 15** **th** **, 1995**

The dungeon folk had a good couple of weeks; not a single toe inched its way out of line. Snape was half inclined to give his cane pride of place above the common room mantelpiece, where it could be contemplated on a nightly basis. But when Dumbledore and Flitwick commented on the sudden congeniality of his house, he was charitable and put it down to a renewed appreciation of fellowship.

"And what brought that about?" Asked Filius.

"They got it into their heads some of the students were leaving. Idle chatter, no truth to it. But it's made them value each other's company."

And so it had. Once assured that no one was being expelled, the first act of fellowship had been Potter remembering the promise to teach Elsa and Alicia dancing. He nudged Goyle, and nodded at the two forlorn girls. Despite their stiffness and twinges, Goyle was soon 'left, left together-ing' with Elsa, and poor Alicia had the treat of being taught the foxtrot by Harry 'all left feet' Potter. She mastered it faster than he ever would, but she didn't tell him he was a rubbish dancer, and nor did she crow to Tory Greengrass. Other kindnesses followed. Tory did what Alicia had been secretly hoping for all along - told her she was jealous a fourth-year boy had taught her the foxtrot. Alicia beamed, and instantly forgot both Tory's mean comments _and_ Snape's caning. Bletchley apologised to AB for his suspicions, and volunteered to assist with the potion-making. He had little aptitude, but he was a demon at scrubbing clean those annoyingly thin glass burettes.

It amused Severus no end to watch their scrupulous fairness when playing board games, the expressions of intense interest no matter how banal the conversation, and their zealous adherence to sharing. But his favourite was watching them exit the narrow common room door, 'after you', 'no, after you', 'I insist, after you', 'no, I insist'. And on it went, until Snape flicked his wand, and blasted both over-polite nitwits simultaneously through the doorway. Was that what Pomona had all the time up in Hufflepuff? Dear Merlin, he pitied her. 'Niceness' was easy; affable students gave him so much free time he was considering taking up model ship-making. But his Snakes were so much more than that. Not to worry, they couldn't keep it up; they'd soon be back to their conniving ways.

So when word finally reached Hogwarts of Claude and Audrey Delingpole's whereabouts, it was an uncertain Snape that left the castle to check on their progress. Had his students tired of being nauseatingly nice? He erred on the side of caution and subjected them to twenty minutes of chilling threats should they even lightly muse on disobeying the rules. As the common room door closed behind him, his students saw a hook appear on the back of it. They knew what was coming next - and they were right. The cane. It was the little touches that made Severus Snape such a great housemaster.

 **oOo**

 **Later that day, Villa Concordia, Levanzo (Aegadian Islands, Sicily) - one of the Delingpoles' houses**

Severus patted his breast pocket, hoping against hope he'd brought some headache potion. He hadn't, and he resigned himself to throbbing eyes and pounding temples as he listened to Claude and Audrey Delingpole witter on.

"I think you'll be rather proud of us! We've done the chalet in Lech …"

"And the villa in Como!" Added Claude Delingpole.

"My, my … a whole two houses searched in little over three months. Perhaps you should slow down your efforts; you're no use to anyone if you drop from exhaustion."

Audrey Delingpole detected a 'tone' in her houseguest's words.

"Now you're getting cross with us, aren't you?"

"I'm a little impatient for the mirror." Snape conceded.

"It's not easy searching a whole house for a round gold mirror …"

"Oval, Audrey. The Mirror of Merlin is oval, and it's silver." Corrected her husband.

"You don't even know what you're looking for?!" Cried Snape.

"I've never seen it! The mirror's always been in Claude's family."

Snape dropped his head in his hands, and wondered how many blood vessels had ruptured in his brain that afternoon. Claude Delingpole saw the need for good news.

"The outbuildings are all done!"

"Yes!" Joined in Audrey enthusiastically, "A very kind man, Luca, is helping us search."

" _What_?! Who's Luca? You were told not to have any strangers on your property!"

Snape had handpicked the staff to accompany the Delingpoles on their search. All halfwits, cretins and nincompoops were banned from leaving the Gloucestershire estate, which didn't leave a great number to venture to the continent - the Delingpoles favouring like-minded simpletons to act as servants. However, his secret weapon was squib housekeeper Henrietta Goggins. A vision of competence in a grey twill dress and starched collar - and with a starched manner to suit, Henrietta ran a tight ship; Snape couldn't believe she'd allowed the trespass.

"Goodness me!" Laughed Audrey, "He's not a stranger! He's become a firm friend!"

This was no headache; these fools had given him an embolism. He felt it spreading through his brain. Any second now the vomiting would start, followed by blurred vision, a seizure, then death. He was looking forward to it. _Anything_ was better than trying to get sense from Claude and Audrey Delingpole.

Yet still he listened and teased out the facts from the addle-pated pair's tale. Luca, itinerant goatherd of the island, had lost three newborn kids. He was off to market soon with his herd, but three goats short would mean he couldn't earn enough to feed his seven children. He was desperate to find them, and had begged permission to search the Delingpole property. It sounded like a tale The Brothers Grimm had penned after too much schnapps, but as ludicrous as it was, it struck terror in Snape.

He flew from the terrace in search of functioning grey matter, and found it in the form of Henrietta. He didn't need to say a word.

"You want to know where the local wizard is, I expect. Oh yes, he's one of you alright; I've been watching. And I know what you're thinking Mr Snape, but let me tell you what I think. I think it's better you know your enemy and keep him in sight. That's what I've been doing. You'll find him prowling the dairy … wears an animal skin on his shoulders … keeps his wand under it."

Two hours of drivel from the Delingpoles, and fifteen seconds of brilliance from Miss Goggins; she was quite possibly the ablest woman on the planet. _Miss_ Goggins? Severus certainly hoped it was 'miss'; he'd be checking that out later. He walked through the kitchens, exchanged his habitual black for a kitchen hand's white jacket and bandana, and forced a casual walk to the dairy, pausing only a moment to appraise his actions. Think first, then fall like a thunderbolt.

 **oOo**

" _Avada Kedavra_!"

Did the speed with which Snape hunted down and killed Luca make it merciful, or brutal? He reflected on that as he levitated the body and let it drop down the disused well. The dead weight rebounded off the sides of the narrow well before reaching the bottom with a distasteful thud, and sending up a plume of ancient dust. Snape pulled off the bandana and used it to wipe his face. Merciful, he decided. It was how he'd want to go.

The tale of the lost three kids had been perfect for the Delingpoles, but Snape spotted its flaw instantly. Goat placenta was a prized potion ingredient, and only available after they'd kidded in July. There were no newborn kids in February; they were all seven months old. Any goatherd worth his salt would know that. So, who was Luca? Snape knew of his type. A muggle-born wizard outcast from society for his 'freakish' ways. They were a highly-prized commodity amongst certain well-to-do sections of the wizarding world. Anyone rich enough could send out scouts to find poor, unschooled witches or wizards, equip them with a wand, tutor them in the art of the unforgivable, and make them do their bidding.

Snape gave a last look down the well. He'd killed enough for it not to appal him. The taking of life didn't get easier; each death gnawed at him, and strengthened his fear that destroying life was the sum total of his being. Then again, Luca was a dead man the second he'd taken money for services. He'd have been killed with or without finding the mirror; he knew too much.

 **oOo**

Snape felt he'd earned the right to sit on the terrace with a chilled Malvasia white, _and_ a plate of figs and goat's cheese. He chuckled and wondered if the cheese came from dear, old Luca's herd? Then chided himself for being flippant and callous. Death Eater humour. It paved the path to terrible deeds.

He had one more clue as to who was leading the hunt for the mirror. It had to be someone of considerable means. That ruled out the Bletchleys, Mayhews, Greengrasses and Van Den Bergs. They had money, but not enough for a venture like this. After the pantomime with Potter's cloak, he was absolutely certain one of his students was involved. That day, he'd felt momentary elation when he realised the cloak had been tampered with; he thought he had a motive. Then he banished that thought. Only a fool makes assumptions over something so serious.

Malfoy was no fool. He'd replaced the cloak correctly; Snape knew it. Someone else had come in and moved it. Not only that, they'd deliberately spilt Pungous onion around his office. A clever move, it was their 'fail-safe'. Had he missed the open cupboard door and the wrongly placed cloak; he couldn't fail to notice the eye-watering smell of the onion. That would alert him that someone had been in, and make him look in his cupboard. How very Slytherin.

He drained his glass and threw the last of the figs over the balustrade for the chickens. Another matter had taken priority. Luca would be missed soon; whoever had paid him to find the mirror would be expecting a report. Others would be sent to search. Claude and Audrey Delingpole needed to leave.

 **oOo**

He didn't spare them the details. There was no fairy tale ending for Luca; he didn't find his three kids, along with a pot of gold. Severus knew lying to be a devilish business; the secret to doing it well was to lie as little as possible. In any case, they weren't small children; they had to face reality at some point. The news left them crestfallen, and Claude Delingpole rubbed his wife's back.

"There, there Audie. It's not a painful way to go; we know that."

He turned to Snape.

"He may have meant us harm, but there's something inexplicably tragic about the loss of young life, isn't there Professor Snape?"

Dear God, thought Snape, they lost Christopher and Hugh; how did I forget that?! He suddenly felt wretched; how dare he assume they hadn't faced reality? They'd faced the worst reality of all. And he'd treated them abominably, like feeble-minded children. Looking at them with new eyes, he saw a dim, yet loving couple that had lost two children, and then had the fortitude to start afresh with Archie. But their greatest asset was not allowing the twin's deaths to make them bitter. It was no false modesty to claim he could never do that.

"You need to leave here; it isn't safe any longer."

"I thought that might be the case, but where do we go? We've no more houses."

"I have somewhere." Replied Snape.

 **oOo**

"Do you need all of that?!"

Audrey D. had staggered into the sitting room lugging the biggest handbag Snape had seen. It slipped from her grasp and a stream of 'essentials' came flooding out: lipsticks, various types of hairbrush, bottles of scent, handkerchiefs, multiple tubes of hand cream, key fobs, silk scarves, peppermints, a manicure kit, and much more besides.

"We need to hurry! Get your wand and pack it away." Urged Snape.

But her wand was amongst the detritus on the carpet, so he spelled the contents back into the handbag himself. It took an age for everything to sail back in, which was no bad thing ultimately.

"Lipstick number _nine_." Observed Snape, "I don't know where you think I'm sending you, but it isn't Monte Carlo."

Eventually, the last few items were lined up ready to float in. Audrey looked at them, and pointed at the last one.

"I don't need that silly thing. It's the most useless make-up mirror I've ever seen. Can't think why I bought it; though actually … I'm not sure I did."

"What?"

"I said I don't think I bought that mirror. I'm certain I found it in Claude's dressing room. Not sure why I kept it; I stopped using it a long time ago. Whenever I looked in it, it gave me the oddest feeling …"

But Severus wasn't listening. He was galloping down the hallway, mirror in hand, to ask a rather pertinent question of Claude Delingpole.

 **oOo**

Yes, it was. The mirror that Audrey Delingpole had been carrying around in her handbag for who knows how long was The Mirror of Merlin. She'd almost thrown the blasted thing out, but he had it now and the import of that wasn't lost on him. He slipped it into his breast pocket, patted it, and went straight back to business.

"Does this mean we can go home?" Asked Audrey.

"No." Replied Snape, "The only way to eliminate the threat of the mirror is to give it up."

He stared out of the windows at the expanse of blue beyond the lemon groves. A mirror that revealed a person's intentions past and present … what a dreadful thing. Why had Merlin made it? Had it been an exercise in vanity? Showing the world his powers? Or had he simply been unable to fathom the dangers it would bring? The fatal flaw of the wholly good … a person needs to be plunged into darkness in order to value the light.

The mirror falling into Voldemort's hands would be catastrophic. Catastrophic yet fitting. Voldemort had controlled almost every aspect of their lives. The one thing that had eluded him had been their desires and intentions. He had Legilimancy, but too many of his followers were skilled at shielding. With the mirror, his control would be absolute. Which of his old comrades would want that? He thought of his school friends. Rosier and Wilkes were both dead and the others were currently entertaining the Dementors in Azkaban. Lucius? No. He had far too much to hide. And why wouldn't he? Who didn't have a secret to hide? Bellatrix didn't. The only other person Snape could think of was Barty Crouch Jnr, who'd been almost as chilling as Voldemort in his fervour. Thankfully that madman had rotted away within his first year at Azkaban.

Was the person seeking the mirror doing so for the greater glory of Voldemort, or to save his own skin? He suspected the latter, though that was immaterial. Any Death Eater worthy of the name would use that mirror to name names and advance his own position. That's what they did; it was all about power. Snape looked over at the Delingpoles.

"The mirror is infused with the magic of Merlin; it's beyond my powers to remove it. Only one wizard alive can do that."

"Albus Dumbledore?" Queried Claude.

Snape nodded.

"Though I suspect it'll take even him some time. You'll need to stay hidden until he does."

 **oOo**

Snape stood on the sun-bleached gravel drive, and breathed in the scent of wild thyme. The weak winter sun on his black robes was warm, and as he stood there, he took in the prospect of a life that had been denied him, fresh horizons, new experiences, adventure. Not for him, and all because of one ghastly mistake. Or was it? Was that too simplistic? He supposed it was. He'd done what had to be done, and he was another step on the way to ridding the world of The Mirror of Merlin, with all its attendant calamity. But now one thing was certain; whoever was searching would soon grow desperate, and the Delingpoles' disappearance would bring the search to Hogwarts.

"You don't need to chivvy me out, Claude! I'm quite capable of walking down some steps!"

Claude Delingpole was doing his best to get Audrey moving; he looked over at Snape with an apologetic smile, obviously expecting a terse comment from the schoolmaster. But Snape had learned something that day about the resilience of this simple-minded pair, and he was inclined to be lenient. As they finally drew near, he held out his arms to link with them. One final look to the front steps and an intriguing smile and wink to Miss Goggins, which she returned, and off they apparated… to a highly improbable location.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: 1** Thanks to guests, Fan and Hamlet. Hamlet, so glad you could appreciate Snape as a killer; I mean, he did willingly join the Death Eaters! I don't find it realistic that he could be one of Voldemort's henchmen, and just go around saying nasty things to people - that's a bit like the Clinton "but I never inhaled" defence! Also, take your point on stereotyping. However, Mrs D is based on an adored aunt of mine (and I'm not trying to dismantle 'the patriarchy' one bonkers fan fic at a time!) Love reading your thoughts!

 **A/N: 2** Snape quotes Robert Browning, _Jocoseria_ , 1883, and goes on to quote the playwright David Mamet's thoughts on treachery (though he doesn't acknowledge him!)

 **A/N: 3** On the home stretch now! Should just be two more chapters after this (possibly three - I can't remember).

 **Chapter 31**

 **Talks Interrupted**

 **21** **st** **February, 1995**

For all his worry over the Second Task, Harry was in a chipper mood that day. Things had been going well. Of course, he still had no idea how he was going to get through the task, and the outcome looked set to be death or ignominious defeat, but it really was amazing how bearable life's heavy burden could be when you just accepted it. Life was good. Malfoy had been surprisingly modest about his exploits at _The Hog's Head_ for a while - a very short while. And every night thereafter, the fourth-year boys fell asleep listening to variations on 'Potter's Rescue'. Goyle didn't mean to do it; most probably, he was as bored as everyone else with Malfoy's endless recounts.

"Forget that," He'd told Malfoy, "What about Potter? He's got to face the second task!"

From that moment on, Harry's fate was sealed. Malfoy gave him no quarter. One minute he was belittling the task,

"Splashing about with the Merpeople?! _Oooh_! Scary! Some test of bravery that is!"

And the next, he was glorying in the endless possibilities of a gruesome outcome, even suggesting they run a book on how many minutes it would be until Potter's lifeless body came bobbing to the surface. Unless, of course, the Grindylows tore it apart and ate it; Malfoy had heard they did that. But in a way, Harry was grateful to the Platinum Pillock. Genuinely grateful. He'd been nervous about the second bonkers instalment; he still was, but now he just wanted it over with to shut Malfoy up. And that was a good thing.

Snape kept having the occasional trip away from Hogwarts. No one asked why; he wasn't a man to be questioned, after all. But the cane on the back of the door hadn't made a reappearance, and AB shared with them how tired and wretched Snape had looked at the prospect of using it.

"Not as wretched as we bloody felt." Malfoy huffed.

All 'can-ees' agreed. But had we felt like that, wondered Harry later. That Hogsmeade afternoon had been a mixture of awful and, surprisingly, not that bad. The 'not that bad' aspects comprised Snape meting out punishment even more swiftly than was his normal practice. And, mortifying as it sounded, being caned in front of the whole house made the punishment less scary. The Snakes weren't mocking anyone; there were no nasty little looks of glee. Harry had seen them all wince as the cane went whistling through the air, then screw up their eyes as it landed with a dull thump on whichever unfortunate sod Snape had bent over the armchair. It was like they were all in it together.

But of course, there was the awful aspect as well. Between each set of six, Snape paused momentarily and bent the cane until its tip almost met with the crooked handle. Everyone went wide-eyed at seeing the rattan's pliability and strength. Then he gave a quick swish and pointed the tip at the next victim. That was it, thought Harry; Snape was putting on a show. He wasn't denying the cane hurt like buggery; so much so, his recollections of the slipper were becoming fond and misty-eyed. But it wasn't the staggeringly cruel assault he'd imagined. With hindsight, Harry recognised Snape pulled his blows and concentrated his energies on making things appear worse than they were. Harry found it admirable. He _was_ a snarky git, and if you got on the wrong side of him, watch out. But in a way, that was alright because Severus Snape was singularly unencumbered by that pathetic adult need to 'be a mate'. He was in charge, and he never pretended otherwise.

The Snakes didn't try to muscle in on the tournament drama; they viewed that as a Gryffindor thing, and passed no comment when Harry went off with Ron and Hermione. That made life easier; they weren't like Ron and took the hump as soon as you spoke to another person. Harry spent a fair bit of time with them, especially in the library as Hermione pulled out one dusty tome after another looking for clues. Ron wasn't pressing him for dirt on the Slytherins. It was all so nice and familiar, he was able to shelve his concerns. They saw a lot of Madeye, too. Though that was one thing that had made Harry uncomfortable, only he couldn't think why. Not true, he knew why. Moody was obviously suspicious of Snape. Ron nudged Harry after one of their encounters and gave him a 'See? Told you' look. Harry just shrugged, and mentioned that Moody seemed to be suspicious of everyone; maybe that was how aurors were? In any case, he'd seemed more suspicious of Bartemius Crouch that night he'd caught Harry with The Marauders' Map.

So it was that when Snape swooped from around a corner and insisted Harry follow him to his study, he wasn't nervous or alarmed; he was actually quite pleased to see the housemaster who'd been frequently absent of late. He contemplated the billowing gown and impossibly fast stride, and wondered what insult Snape was going to hurl at him first.

 **oOo**

 **Snape's study**

"That brain of yours is so ineffectual it couldn't possibly comprehend the number of issues I have to deal with. Therefore, you will answer me promptly and truthfully; how are your preparations for this ludicrous task going?"

"I know about the egg; I figured that out."

" _You_ figured it out?"

Harry was embarrassed; why did he say he'd done it? He'd only chucked it across the bathroom.

"I … er … I got help."

"From whom?" Demanded Snape.

"Moaning Myrtle, sir."

"What about the rest of this madness? How are you going to stop yourself from drowning?"

"Dunno, sir."

He expected a withering put-down, but The Git looked pleased. Harry couldn't work it out. He was going to let all of Hogwarts down if he couldn't figure out the task; he needed to understand everything. He told Snape as much, and the man darted over to his bookshelf, grabbed a book, and went straight to a well-thumbed page.

"' _What Youth deemed crystal, Age finds out was dew'_ " He read aloud.

Some bloke called Browning wrote that, and Snape seemed to think it was the bee's knees. It was embarrassing having The Git spout poetry at him, especially when he kept staring so expectantly.

"Of course you wouldn't understand; you're _fourteen_! Merlin help me, do you have any idea how much I despise the teen-aged mind?!"

What a sterling attribute for a housemaster …

"Think about dew, Potter. What are its properties?"

Okaaaay, thought Harry. He's completely flipped, but I can do this.

"It's wet."

The impossibly thin lips and groan said it all. For a second, it looked like Snape was going to swipe him round the head with the volume of Browning.

"It evaporates!" Snape thundered, "It disappears! Listen to me well, Potter; don't take me for one of those fools that believes the young need to be listened to and emboldened …"

"I honestly never would, sir."

"And don't get smart with me, either. You don't need to know it all because you can never know it all; you're too young. This certainty of yours that you know what you're doing will evaporate like the morning dew. Old age and treachery will _always_ beat youth and exuberance."

A cheery note to end on, thought Harry. But Snape had more; he turfed him out of his study with an odd demand. Harry was ordered to steer clear of adults, banish attempts at heroism, and be a typical fourteen-year-old nitwit.

"Get out and have fun, pointless, banal fun. Stop being so earnest; be more flippant! You're fourteen; start acting like it … or I'll make your life utter misery …"

Only Severus Snape, thought Harry, could threaten people with dire consequences if they didn't have fun.

 **oOo**

 **The Second Task of The Triwizard Tournament, 24** **th** **February, 1995**

Harry looked down at the Black Lake. It was a good name. How the hell was he going to find something dear to him in there? The barracking and cheers echoed off the lake's surface. Harry looked at all the excited faces, contorted almost out of recognition, and prayed the ball of green sludge Dobby had given him worked. But one face didn't look excited. The tall head of Slytherin stood at the back of the professors with his perpetual, and reassuring, look of opprobrium.

He only managed half the ball of gillyweed, and even that made him gag. Would it still work? And did he really care? He thought of Snape's 'pep talk' the other day, the central theme of which appeared to be coming last was okay. Snape hadn't used those words, but Harry was fairly certain that was his meaning.

Standing on the edge of the wooden step, he felt the gob of gillyweed lingering just above his sternum. Vile stuff. It felt alive, like it was fighting to come back up out of his throat. No way could he eat the rest. He ducked down and hid the other half in his cloak on the bench behind him, and when he stood back up, he nearly stumbled into the lake. He blinked, and panic hit him. The lake was in the sky and the trees were down below. Was he standing on his head? God, he was hot! Hot and blue. Blue, hot toes, blue, boiling toes. He had to get into the lake. What? Why were they all looking at him like that? They hated him, all of them; what had he done? Yes, that was it. Harry had to be got rid of; if anyone touched him, they turned to ash. The wooden boards melted, and he fell into the water.

Dive deep, get away from them all. The water was murky, almost as murky as his life. Murky false friends and those that claimed to help. They never helped; they wanted to tear him apart. The deeper he went, the clearer it was. Fighting past the Grindylows, he saw it with ice cool precision; Dumbledore _was_ Voldemort. _What_? No! Really? Oh, Christ! Ron and Hermione were dead! _And_ Gabrielle and Cho. Dead or sleeping? He checked, no gills. No one was coming to save them; it was just him. They were testing him again. They all despised him; wanted him to fail. Percy was up there, ready to run to Barty Crouch. Harry would be off to Azkaban; he knew it. What if his gills stopped working? Should've eaten all the green sludge. Now he was going to die. Oh, sodding hell! Ron was 100 metres tall now; he couldn't move him. But … that's what they wanted him to think.

Fear. Fear of going to the surface, where all the awful people who pretended to care were. It was nice down there, away from it all, the gentle flap of the weed against his face and arms. Just had to watch out for the stones - if they touched him, he'd crumble and turn to dust. And the purple water, the purple water tried to tear his fingers off. But Cho had gone now, and a shark had come to fetch Hermione; Harry didn't know why. Should he keep Ron and Gabrielle down here with him? Oh, that's right … no gills. He rubbed at his friend's neck to make sure. Who did this to you, Ron? The same bastards that told me they cared, and left me at The Dursleys? All rotten gits, only The Git wasn't a git. No one was like they seemed. Better go up, Ron. The Merpeople want our eyes; they eat them on toast with Hollandaise sauce.

Outside was freezing. He panted to keep warm. He had to tell Snape the Grindylows were planning to smash the window into the dungeons. He tried to get to him, but Snape was at the back. And then his big toe got trapped in a knot hole in the wood. He pulled it out, but it twisted the bone. _Shit_! That hurt! The aching cold and the pain shooting up his leg seemed to chase away the demons in his head. What am I going on about?! I've gone mad, thought Harry. Then it dawned on him … the lake … the lake was enchanted; it had sent him barmy. Get a grip; don't say anything, or they'll cart you off to the hospital wing.

Snape looked worried about him! Was that real, or was the lake water still making him bonkers? No, it was real; Snape was looking him up and down. And then the blabbermouth mermaid told Dumbledore he'd stayed behind until all four hostages were rescued, and he saw a furious glint in The Git's eyes. Fulsome praise and points galore ensued … but not from him. McGonagall threw her arms around Harry, telling anyone who cared to listen that of course Harry would ensure all four were rescued; 'he was a Gryffindor though and through!' She meant well; Harry knew that, but he couldn't quite blame Snape for looking nauseous.

"May we claim Potter for the evening?" Asked McGonagall.

Snape pushed past Moody. Looking at Harry curiously, he grabbed his neck and shoulder.

"You're like a block of ice! Why did you stay down so long, you foolish boy?!"

Next the long, bony fingers began to squeeze and pinch, apparently to stimulate blood flow. It was agony! But every time Harry tried to voice an objection, Snape's thumb and forefinger gave a horrible little twist. He looked at the others with plaintive eyes, hoping they could see the torture taking place right under their noses.

"Ah! A massage … nothing quite like it when you're a bit stiff."

Dumbledore could be a right plonker, at times.

The Git stooped down to whisper sweet nothings in his ear,

"You may go. I'll be busy tonight … doing … An. Inventory. Of. My. Storeroom!"

Alright! Calm down, you nutter!

Harry was yanked closer.

"Make no mistake Mister Potter, we will discuss your pointless daring when I have enough time to … Get. My. Point. Across."

"I think I get the point already, sir."

But Snape wasn't having it; he instructed him to be outside his office at eight the following morning, and then shoved him off with an injunction to meet and greet his adoring public. Back to being an unfair bastard, then; such was life.

 **oOo**

 **Slytherin Common Room, 25** **th** **February, 1995**

The phrase ' _from the sublime to the ridiculous'_ kept running through Harry's head; though he supposed imagining the Merpeople wanted your eyes on toast wasn't actually very sublime. _Christ_! That lake water was potent stuff. He should bottle it and sell it to those boys who hung around the underpass entrance back in Little Whinging. They'd be up for it; Harry'd make a killing. He craned his neck back to finish his count, thirty-seven courses of stone from floor to ceiling. Just checking … he'd counted it before … several times … it hadn't changed; the room had neither grown, nor shrunk. But what else was there to do?

Millicent's book club notes were on the table near him. If he were honest, he wasn't mad keen on the book club. Reading wasn't really his thing. She sometimes pestered him into going, but he preferred a game of cribbage with Zabini - loser made the winner's bed for a week. He was getting quite good at it, too. But even Millicent's notes on _The Catcher in the Rye_ were preferable to counting stones. Tough luck though, he couldn't reach them. A typical Snape trick to leave them tantalisingly out of reach. One. Two. Three. _No, stop_! He wasn't counting those bastard stones again _._ The common room door opened. They were coming in. Oh, bloody hell.

"Hail the conquering hero!"

Was that Philip Aitcheson? It was hard to tell amidst the sniggers.

"You look … victorious!"

Easy. Millicent.

"You look all-vanquishing!"

Lush Tracey Davis; he'd recognise that kittenish purr anywhere. He just hoped a tiny bit of her that meant those words.

"You look positively triumphant!"

Pucey, or Zabini?

"You look like a berk!"

He knew who that was.

"No, he doesn't Draco!"

That was Pansy Parkinson; why was she sticking up for him?

"What he looks like is a very naughty boy!"

Oh, of course. She wasn't.

Yes, Harry was ignominiously seated in the corner of the common room - stuck there, as a matter of fact.

"Don't get up, Potter." Said Draco, "Oh, that's right; you can't!"

Draco had correctly guessed Snape had used a sticking charm, and he intended to make the most of it.

"Elsa? Where's that camera we got you for your birthday?!"

As it happens, Elsa wasn't in the common room, but Harry didn't have a clue.

"Don't you dare!" He cried.

"Try and stop me!" Jeered Draco, " _Go on_!"

Harry had visions of photos circulating around the castle of him on a chair in the corner like a bloody naughty six-year-old. He'd had enough humiliation with the 'Potter Stinks!' badges; he wasn't going through it again. He lurched backwards and forwards manically trying to break Snape's charm, his arms thrashing about and his head jerking in every direction. It didn't work; he just ended up looking like a right nutjob.

"Oh, try it again, Potter! That's hilarious!"

Even Millicent thought he looked barmy.

 **oOo**

The cackling died down; it wasn't as if they weren't used to Snape plonking someone in the corner, and they decided to use their housemaster's absence to write up the latest entry of _The Slytherin Bible_. There was a bit of dithering as they tossed around chapter titles,

"How about ' _The Hogsmeade Hullabaloo'_?"

"Too jokey." Said Malfoy, "We should call it ' _A Brush With Death'_ , or ' _Saving Potter's Sorry Arse'_."

"Bollocks!" Came the voice from the corner.

"Talking of arses," Said Millicent, "What about ' _How to Be Complete Tits and Get Caned in the Process'_?"

But eventually, they got down to business.

'What time _exactly_ did Filch come back?' 'How long did it take to get to Hogsmeade?' 'Hey, Archie? How did you know Snape wasn't in his study?' 'Where there any booby-traps on the cupboard door?' 'Did you know, Bletch; you were only the fourth person Snape's caned?' 'Pucey, you were the fifth.'

Occasionally, Harry was consulted.

"Potter? Did Malfoy really carry you over his shoulder away from the mad Ministry man?"

" _No_!"

"I almost had to. He froze like a scared rabbit!"

"You're dead when I get up from here!"

"Don't think so. You'll have died of shame from everyone seeing these photos before you can get to me!"

"How long do you have to sit there anyway?" Asked Daphne.

"Until I 'learn some humility', whatever that means."

"It means, Mister Potter, that you need to stop overestimating your own importance."

Yippee. Snape was back.

"Up, Potter. My study. _Now_."

 **oOo**

 **Snape's study**

"You obviously take me for a man that indulges in idle chit-chat, Mister Potter."

Harry couldn't think of a less apposite description.

"No I don't, sir."

"Is that so?"

Snape was staring at him; was he expecting an answer? Harry was fairly sure it'd been a rhetorical question. And what the hell was this all about, anyway? What had he done to put Snape in such a narky mood?

"I seem to recall we had a little chat in this very room last term. You almost collapsing with the 'flu and refusing to tell anyone. Ring any bells, Potter?"

Oh, that was it; Snape was going to go mental about him 'showing off' again. But he hadn't been! He couldn't just swim away with Ron when the others were still down there! Maybe a cold-hearted arse like Snape could, but not Harry.

"Yes, sir."

"I believe I warned you that any future discussions on your shambolic attempts at heroism would be unpleasant."

What does that mean?! Before he could think, Snape shot forward from his perch on the edge of the desk and gripped Harry's chin, his long fingers digging into his left cheek.

"What will impress upon you the need to stop taking yourself so damn seriously? What do I …"

A puff of smoke from the fireplace stopped Snape in his tracks, though he didn't release his hold on Harry's chin.

"Ah! More muscle therapy for young Harry, I see. Carry on, carry on; I'm sorry for disturbing you …"

"Headmaster, how can I help you?" Asked Snape with forced politeness.

Snape released the chin with such force, Harry's head spun in the opposite direction, and snapped back to the fireplace. He couldn't see Dumbledore. Snape was standing, arms braced on either end of the chimneypiece, with his academic gown now a curtain of black. A lot of murmuring went on, but Harry didn't even try to listen in - quite possibly a first. He was too busy thinking about how The Git intended to 'make an impression'. Sodding hell, not the cane again.

He grew anxious, and rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. Something crinkled. Oh, shit! The rest of the gillyweed! The penny dropped; Dobby had got the gillyweed from Snape's storeroom. That was why Snape did an inventory. Why did I put it back in my pocket?! I'm a bloody idiot! What if Snape found it? He was always making people turn out their pockets. In utter panic he swallowed the last remains. _Gills_! What if he grew gills again?! Could he breathe through them?! Then the awful truth came sailing out of the marshmallow rocks; I'm going to die; this is how it ends. A hippopotamus poked its head out from under Snape's desk and spoke to him,

"Yes, Harry Potter, you _are_ going to die. It's for the best; you were always rubbish, you know."

"Goodbye Harry!" Called Dumbledore from fireplace. Even _he_ thought Harry was going to die.

Snape turned around slowly to look at Harry.

"What?" He demanded.

"I'm gonna die!"

"Really? The Great Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, isn't immortal? Life really is unfair … sit down, Potter, and stop babbling."

" _No_! I'm really going to die! The hippopotamus said so! _Gills_! The gills are going to kill me; I won't be able to breathe out of water!"

"I _knew_ it!"

Was Snape flying?! He got across the room to Harry so fast, it looked like it.

"Perhaps I should go and throw you in the lake!" He snarled.

" _Yes_!" Cried Harry, "Throw me in the lake! I can breathe there!"

"You idiot boy!" Snape paused a moment to give him a good shake, "That gillyweed you stole only grows gills when you're immersed in water. It does, however, produce potent hallucinations anywhere. What were you thinking to take a substance you had no idea about?!"

Harry found himself pulled to the cupboard, his back pressed tightly against Snape's chest and his housemaster's strong left arm pinning him there. Snape dragged him around as he scoured the shelves for what he wanted. When he found it, he simply moved his hand up to Potter's face and pinched his nose. Harry's eyes boggled; he had no idea what was happening. Had Snape lied to him? Had the gills grown?! He couldn't breathe! His mouth opened, and he gasped. Quick as a flash, a phial of viscous sludge was being poured into it. It was foul! Harry began coughing, but Snape clamped his jaws tightly closed.

Walls again became stone, and hippopotamuses left the room. Harry felt fine, more than fine; he felt great. Better keep that under wraps, he thought. Once Snape knew he was better, he'd bloody murder him. How to pretend he was still hallucinating? Should he start talking to an imaginary giant rabbit?

"You're fine now, Potter. Stop play acting."

Oh. Harry braced himself, but the scolding never eventuated. If anything, Snape sounded flat and lifeless.

"I would ask who gave you the gillyweed … _my_ gillyweed. But you'd only tell me you didn't know, and I don't have the energy to become irate."

Harry felt bad. Snape was absolutely right; he would've lied.

"You took the gillyweed without considering its risks because you thought you had to; that this ridiculous contest is important, and that you must try to win, regardless of cost. It's the folly of youth to be so certain, but remember what I said about crystal and dew."

"If I'm honest sir, I don't really know what that means."

Snape leaned forward, but he didn't thwack him on the thigh like he usually did. He gave a gentle tap instead, and spoke.

"Do you know why I loathe the teen-aged mind? Because it's impenetrable; nothing can get in that the damn fool teenager doesn't permit. You're all so bloody certain of everything …"

Snape leant back in his chair, and looked up at the ceiling. He seemed to do that for ages, but Harry didn't shuffle around and get embarrassed. Something was different with Snape; for once Harry felt completely relaxed with him.

"But I suppose that's what youth is: cast iron convictions and a dearth of contemplation. And if it's the belief you can drink a bottle of firewhisky and not get drunk, then that's fine. You're an idiot, but you get a hangover and learn."

Harry peered at the man before him. Was this really Snape, or had Sirius sneaked into Hogwarts with the aid of Polyjuice?

"But dangerous times breed dangerous mistakes, Potter. _I know_."

Snape stopped to rub at his left arm, then continued.

"At your age things seem so crystal clear, but sometimes the crystals are dew. They evaporate, and what you're left with can be terrifying."

Harry was sure Snape wanted to tell him something, but why didn't he just come out and say it? Why speak in riddles? Why quote poetry for God's sake? Why was everything so bloody murky? He'd had enough; he asked Snape.

"Why can't you just come out and say something straight?"

He hadn't added the required 'sir', and he didn't care. Apparently neither did Snape; he just laughed, though it was a laugh peculiarly devoid of mirth.

"My punishment, Potter … my lot in life."

Then he flicked his long, black hair and seemed to rediscover some purpose.

"Tell me Potter, why do you suppose I made you sit in the corner?"

Any other time, Harry's immediate thought would be: 'because you're a twat'. He knew that wasn't the case now, and gave a 'dunno' shrug.

"It wasn't for my amusement … not true; it wasn't _solely_ for my amusement …"

Okay, maybe he was a bit of a twat.

"It was to try and get through that thick head of yours that you are a child. A big child maybe, but still a child. It is _not_ your responsibility to carry through the ludicrous schemes of others. You need to listen to me very carefully; there are times ahead …"

" _Severus_!"

Oh for fuck's sake, not Karkaroff! Ignore him! Harry mentally screamed. I want to hear this! You're being warm, and, human, and great. But Snape leapt to the door.

"Mister Potter was just leaving."

He bundled Harry out into the corridor, and stopped him just as he walked away.

"Potter?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Crystals and dew."

Harry nodded, and then found himself staring at the shut door. _Fucking Karkaroff_! He stood ablaze with indignation, fists clenched and his face growing redder by the second.

 **oOo**

 **Slytherin Common Room**

He was still red-faced when he went stomping back into the common room, which was unfortunate as Malfoy had finally finagled the magical camera from Elsa.

"Hold still; that's perfect! Say 'cheese'!"

Malfoy! With that bastard camera! Oh, he was so gonna get him!

Draco thought he was safe standing behind the sofa and coffee table, but Harry didn't bother trying to negotiate a conventional route to him. He bounded over the sofa and the three people sitting on it - Arno Van Den Berg, Harriet Walsh, and Toby Moncrieff - to land nimbly on the coffee table.

" _Woah_!" Cried the third-years.

Malfoy squeaked and almost dropped the camera. Elsa looked on in horror.

"My camera! You said you'd be careful! Give it back!"

"You're a shit, Malfoy! You're a rotten, lousy shit, and I'm gonna pound you!"

With that, Harry leapt in Draco's direction. Draco gibbered for a split second - before doing what he did best, try to save his own skin. He turned and ran, but not before Harry had landed a kick and thumped him. And then the chase was on. Around the card table, between the sofas, over the armchair. As books from a coffee table were scattered and an ottoman sent tumbling across the room, Arno's eyes flashed with excitement and he began to beat a stirring battle tattoo on the table.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" He called.

Archie stood goggle-eyed calling out helpful tactical manoeuvres to both combatants.

" _Under_ the table! No! Go _around_ the candelabra!"

While Malcolm tore over to the dorm stairs, and yelled up them.

"There's a fight! There's a _real_ fight!"

Malcolm's news caused ancient Griselda Gaunt to pick up her skirts and totter from her frame, but it was a magnet to everyone else. Doors flew open, and people thundered down the stairs to watch the action. AB and the prefects pushed past them, worried at first, until they took in the ridiculous scene.

Another ottoman went flying, and a side table toppled over. Malfoy was frantically running from Potter while hugging the camera to his chest. Potter chased; he was quick, but Draco had the longer legs. Behind both of them, Elsa Tobin was fired up by fury, "Give me my camera, _NOW_!" Malfoy wanted to, but if he stopped to give it her, Potter would be on him. He did a circuit of the common room, and ended up near Crabbe and Goyle.

"Do something!" He snarled.

He kept on running, but was so fast, he was soon back there.

"No chance!" Said Crabbe, "You're on your own!"

Another circuit of the room.

"Your fathers will hear of this!" Gasped Draco before continuing.

"That so?" Asked Crabbe, as the Prat came back around. Crabbe nodded to Goyle, and Goyle picked up Elsa, plonked her on the games table, and handed her a stack of books. She stood and lobbed them at Draco, missing most of the time, and hitting countless others in the process. They yelled at Elsa; Harry yelled at Malfoy, and Arno kept up his ' _Fight_! _Fight_! _Fight_!' chant, to which the whole of the third and second had now joined. At the head of all of this, Malfoy sprinted like a maniac, jabbering and not knowing what to do. He glanced back whilst running. The rest of the room gasped, and called out in unison,

"The fish tank!"

He skidded to a halt millimetres from where the guppies and catfish were looking at him in alarm, but he'd let go of the camera to brace himself on the table. It went flying over the heads of Pansy, Daphne and Tracey - and landed with a crash on the stone floor. Harry ploughed into him, and wrestled him to the floor. One good punch, he'd settle for one good punch, but Malfoy was squirming all over the place. Finally, he socked him a good one, right on the jaw. Malfoy responded by kneeing him in the groin.

" _Ooooh_!" Said all the boys watching.

"Low blow." Commented Millicent, "Get him on the nose, Potter. The nose hurts like hell."

Elsa, distraught over the loss of her camera, marched straight to Malfoy and was about to take a swing at his nose when a hand took hold of her collar and pulled her back.

"Allow me to deal Malfoy and Potter; I'm _so_ much better at this than you."

 **oOo**

With a few flicks of his wand, the debris on the floor magically re-formed, including the camera. Alicia, Tory and Elsa twisted around to kneel up and rest their elbows on the back of the sofa. Malfoy and Potter had given quite a floor show, and now Snape was providing the finale.

"Who started it?"

Malfoy groaned, dropped his head and prepared to speak. Oh no, no, no! Potter had had enough. Dobby had got him through the second task, but only after getting him spun and fried on gillyweed. He'd been sat in the corner, and _then_ put on a repeat performance of drug-addled craziness in front of Snape. He was _not_ being 'out-nobled' by bloody Malfoy.

"I did, sir." He said quickly.

"Mister Malfoy?" Asked Snape.

"Potter's right, sir; he did."

" _What_?! You unbelievable shi…"

Snape's wand was millimetres from his lips and Harry could smell the soap spell on its tip. He swallowed his character assessment in favour of a scowl.

"So, let me get this right. You two have managed to break a coffee table, tear several rare books, smash three vases, upset a roomful of furniture, almost set the fish flapping on the common room floor _and_ frighten Griselda Gaunt so much she's fled her portrait frame. Quite an inventory and I'm not entirely sure what I should do."

The odd thing was, Snape didn't appear remotely cross. Harry and Draco could see it, and so could the others.

"Sir! Sir! I know, sir!" Called Elsa. "Send them both to the corner!"

"No!" Said Alicia. "Send them to the corner of the Great Hall at supper!"

Tory Greengrass wanted in on the action.

"Put them over your knee!" She giggled.

"In the Great Hall at supper!" Alicia added.

The three girls found their suggestions hilarious. Not so Malfoy and Potter, who glared at them with more venom than a basilisk.

"Thank you ladies, but I believe I have an even more ignominious punishment. I will, however, bear those suggestions in mind the next time any of you misbehave! Follow me, gentlemen."

 **oOo**

 **The Elves' quarters at the back of the kitchens**

It certainly was ignominious, thought Malfoy, as well as abject, mortifying, undignified and downright disgusting. Snape had volunteered them to do the house elves' laundry, and head elf Rudi narrowed his eyes at both boys,

"I wants it sparkling white and pressed when I come back!" He snapped.

" _White_?! This stuff used to be white?!"

The head elf flounced from the room, not deigning to answer Malfoy's question.

 **oOo**

Snape's punishment was a doddle for Harry; every time the Dursleys' washing machine needed a service, he was pressed into laundry duty. That fact didn't go unnoticed by Malfoy.

"You were born for menial work, weren't you Potter?"

"If you mean I know how to wash clothes, then yeah."

Malfoy glanced surreptitiously to the side and watched how Harry worked up a lather with the soap flakes. Harry noticed, and went to turn his back so the Prat couldn't see him. Then he stopped and realised how pathetic he was being. What had Malfoy really done today? He'd taken the piss. They always took the piss out of each other; Harry loved it really. So he made a point of turning his back and hiding the grubby vest he was washing,

"Stop copying Malfoy," He whined, "or I'm telling sir!"

" _You what_?!"

Both boys laughed.

"Underpants?!" Said Malfoy, "I'm scrubbing the kitchen elves' underpants?!"

"Only the master elves' pants!" Snapped Harry in a spot-on impersonation of Rudi, "Youse not touching the pants of the lady elves!"

"No, no, wouldn't dream of it; I'd never be able to control myself if I did!" Replied Malfoy.

"Your father …" Ventured Harry.

Dodgy ground. Was the Prat going to take umbrage, or see the ridiculousness of the situation?

"My father would most probably decide he no longer had a son; I'd be cast out. Now, wouldn't that be a shame?"

Harry had miscalculated. He hadn't offended Malfoy; he'd upset him.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have …"

"Listen, Potter. There's something you should know …

"Harry, _Harry_!"

An urgent call from the kitchen's labyrinthine corridors sounded.

"Granger!" Said Malfoy, "What's _she_ doing here? Lock the door!"

"Why?!"

"You want to be the poster boy for her next S.P.E.W. newsletter?!"

Malfoy had a point; Harry could see the headline now,

 _ **Yes**_ **! Hogwarts' Champ Washes Elves' Unmentionables!**

Thanks a lot Hermione, thought Harry. He loved his friend, but her timing was terrible. What was it with the interruptions today? Snape was being brilliant, and then Creepy Karkaroff had muscled in. Now Malfoy wanted to speak, and Hermione had stuffed it up. She rattled forlornly at the door handle, and then settled for stooping down and speaking via the keyhole.

"I think what you're doing is wonderful!"

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" Asked Harry.

"I wanted to check on you. You sounded a bit odd last night; you were telling everyone you needed to buy 4369 pairs of socks for Dobby."

Harry cringed, and wondered what else he'd said last night. Draco just laughed.

"Socks?! You want to buy him socks?! Get him some new underpants!"

Malfoy thought a moment.

"Are you alone, Granger?"

"Yes."

"Then for Merlin's sake, get up off the floor! Let her in, Potter."

Harry opened the door, and Hermione stepped in, only to be pushed past by Millicent, Nott, Crabbe, Zabini, Pansy, Goyle, Daphne, Pucey, Alicia, Astoria and Elsa - with her camera.

"Big smile, Malfoy!" Ordered Elsa.

The flash went off, capturing Draco looking guilty and holding up a soapy pair of tiny underpants.

"Granger!" He snarled, "You said you were alone!"

"We were hiding in a cupboard." Said Millicent, "Sorry Brainbox, but thanks!"

"Let's go!" Said Pucey, "We have to put this snap in the Bible … for _all_ eternity!"

"Bible?" Asked Hermione.

"It's a Slytherin thing." Harry told her, as he looked at Malfoy's thunderous expression. There was no hope of that talk with Malfoy now, so he gave up and had a bit of fun.

"Just think, Malfoy; your grandchildren's grandchildren will see that … and wonder what a weird, old sicko their great-great-grandfather was!"

Despite her prim convictions, Hermione snorted with laughter.

"Shut it, Mudblood!"

Harry gave a start, but Draco had winked when he said it, and Hermione didn't seem bothered at all.

"I _am_ a Mudblood, but you?! You're an elf underpant fetishist!"

Draco threw the soapy unmentionables in Hermione's face. She giggled, scooped off a handful of lather and rubbed it in Draco's hair; Harry wondered if he ought to leave the room.

"You're alright, Granger." Said Malfoy.

"Look at that!"

No, it wasn't a feeble attempt by Harry to stop those two from flirting; it was simply a happy coincidence that just as Draco was making a grab for Hermione's waist, two owls flew past the window and up to The Headmaster's Tower.

"I've never seen owls fly so fast." Said Hermione.

"That's because they're not owls." Said Draco. "Look at the red tags; they're falcons from the Ministry. They use them when something's urgent. They've been to the manor a few times …"

The three looked at each other.

"Something's going to happen." Said Hermione.

"And it won't be good." Added Malfoy.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N 1:** Thank you to Alena85, Guest(s), Fan and Hamlet! I agree with you Hamlet that Harry was a dolt regarding the poetry, but that was a personal recollection of mine when the English Master asked me about a Wilfred Owen poem. I knew what it meant, but I found it cringing to share my private thoughts in public - I'd have preferred to show everyone my knickers!

 **A/N 2:** For folk that don't know, _Ovaltine_ is a powdered milky drink, and _Bovril_ is a drink/stock.

 **A/N 3:** This is quite long - three short chapters in one, really.

 **Chapter 32**

 **Loghalsh Station**

 **Loghalsh, Highlands of Scotland, August 1985**

Ten years ago a serious young man walked into the head offices of _The Great North of Scotland Railway Company_. His purpose to enquire about buying the abandoned station of Loghalsh. He wasn't treated favourably, having upset the comforting tedium of the afternoon. Most there were looking forward to leaving for the day, and the young man did look a little odd. He would have been ejected, but for the manager, Mr Cuithbeart Fraser, calling out from his office, demanding to know what all the chatter was about.

Miss McLeish relayed the hook-nosed young man's request, and Mr Fraser ruminated on it. The company had no plans to re-open that line. In any case, Loghalsh station had never been on the main line; its track was a spur that had serviced the peat industry last century. It was near no inhabited towns; there were no salmon rivers close by. In short, there was no earthly reason for the company to hold onto a derelict building in such an inhospitable spot. The sale was made at once.

 **oOo**

 **25** **th** **February, 1995**

Snape wasn't a gregarious soul. That he'd come to share his life with seventy others was something he regularly reflected on; perhaps the Fates were mocking him? And maybe the enforced fellowship was what allowed him to offer refuge in his dilapidated old station to the Delingpoles. In any case, the precedent had been set years ago when two others had been offered safe harbour. He came here for the occasional night; it was his desert island in the Scottish Highlands, his luxuries a decent bottle and cigarettes. People believed the terraced house in East Lancashire to be his only home, and that suited him fine. Isolated and un-plottable, this was his fail-safe; not even Albus Dumbledore knew of its existence.

All well and good, but it meant getting there was a performance. First he apparated to Coketown, walked through the tired and tatty terrace, and exited the back door. He'd spent an age researching, and finally made the doorknob on his outside lavatory an untraceable portkey. A nauseating ride away, and he landed half a mile from the station next to the corresponding portkey, the fifth stone from the top of a Neolithic cairn. He could have made it closer, but the countryside was glorious, and Severus found he needed the communion with nature. A kite shrieked overhead. He envied it its simple existence. Find food and mate, they were its sole concerns; no need to pretend, to fake, to worry, to plot.

Potter sprang to mind, as he invariably did. He was certain he'd made a mistake helping the boy in the first task. He'd offered no help with the lake challenge … but someone had, and he was certain it was Alastor Moody; he'd overheard him in the staffroom talking to Minerva. Was it simply the untameable Gryffindor compulsion to seek glory, or something else? He believed Potter's claim he hadn't put his name in the Goblet, and had the awful feeling the boy was going to win, _and_ that the prize would be terrible. Should that happen, Severus would be complicit. But that was a term away, and he had more pressing matters.

 **oOo**

Audrey Delingpole beckoned him into the old waiting room. It wasn't quite so tumbledown as before. The fireplaces and stove were working better, and the old furniture he'd snaffled from Hogwarts was now clean and polished. Things were still a little threadbare and frenetically mismatched, but it was all sparkling and had a decidedly jolly air.

"We've been in a fixing and sewing frenzy!" Announced Audrey, "Such fun!"

"Very nice, I'm sure."

He wanted rid of them. Them and the other two, as well.

"Pucey? Take your sister and the Delingpoles out for a walk, a _long_ walk."

Charlie Pucey poked his blond head round from the kitchen, and grinned at the terse command.

"And may I say it's delightful to see you too, sir!"

" _Out_!" Growled Snape.

 **oOo**

On the table in the station master's room stood a pensieve, and on the single chair sat Severus, consumed with thought. It was time; he knew that. Only yesterday, he'd given in to attention-seeking Alicia Mayhew's plea he dance the foxtrot Potter had taught her. She'd begged to be dipped - no easy task when you're six foot three and your partner stands at just four feet five inches. Anything to shut her up, he dipped her and was toying with the idea of letting her drop when she shot up touching his arm where a mark showed through his shirt sleeve. Had he burned himself with a potion, she demanded to know. It was growing stronger; he'd be back soon, and Severus needed to act.

The small room quickly became stifling. He stepped out onto the old platform to enjoy the freezing wind with a cigarette and his souvenir from Sicily, a hip flask of Grappa. Give him cold any time over oppressive heat … That disastrous afternoon, the afternoon following his DADA OWL had seen the dungeons steaming in moist, warm air and he'd decided against a celebratory kip on his bed in favour of a snooze by the lake; had the fickle Scottish weather determined his path in life? Of course not, but it was a temptation to blame that rather than any weakness he might possess.

The Gryffindor cruelty had done far more than humiliate him; it had educated him. But it was an education he'd been too young to comprehend. The desperation he'd felt at James Potter's hands had been made worse by the tepid entreaties of Lily Evans, and then had come that clarifying moment. In his abject disgrace he'd called her 'mudblood', and she'd seized the opportunity to claim hurt and abandon him. One measly word uttered from the depths of his shame, and she was content to cut all ties with him. Whatever he'd once felt for her evaporated; he could never love such a fickle person. All the contempt that had been sent his way that afternoon drove him back to the one person who had shown him kindness, Lucius Malfoy. And from there, it wasn't such a big step into the arms of Voldemort.

He'd leave that memory in. It made him look suitably pathetic, and though the talk was ever of purity and strength, in truth, there was nothing the Dark Lord liked more in his followers than wretchedness. Severus tossed his butt onto the overgrown tracks, heard a momentary sizzle as the night's dew extinguished it, and lit another. Pathetic wretches … that's what they all were. Crabbe and Goyle Seniors, inbred and doltish, the Death Eater attack dogs. Aloysius Nott, older and fiercely intelligent, but consumed with hate after the death of his wife. Insane Bellatrix and terrifying Greyback. Avery and Mulciber, vulgar and sadistic. And Lucius … sad, pathetic Lucius …

Severus had spotted it straight away. The voice. It was just too stridently correct, too clipped; no one spoke like that. Dishevelled and tatty first-year Severus might have been, but he could still spot someone trying too hard. And yet he'd cleaved to Lucius. Lucius had scared away his tormentors, had shown Severus genuine care and had, in those dim and distant days, been fun. The pair grew close. Severus learned the lessons Lucius taught, and more. Years away from being able to afford them, he learned the value of bespoke shoes and the benefits of a good tailor. His voice lost the flat Lancastrian vowels, but stopped at rich, deep modulation - never venturing into the comically correct territory of Lucius'. He learned more, and it didn't surprise him in the least. The much-vaunted House of Malfoy was not so purebred, after all. Lucius' great-grandmother had been a muggle, even worse his great-grandfather had married out of love. How hopelessly vulgar.

Back in the station master's room, Severus raised his wand to his temple and began pulling out a memory, toying with it … out a little, and then back in … out and in. Lucius' family secret came out. He was foolish, but he wasn't beyond redemption. Severus couldn't leave it there for Voldemort to find. It'd be like throwing Lucius to the dogs. The fierce snobbery, however, stayed in. Voldemort would approve. But these were fripperies, a sideshow; he needed to move onto the business at hand.

He released the memory into the pensieve and watched it grow cloudy.

 **The Headmaster's study, July 1981**

"Your first teaching year over, Severus; how has it …"

The question was interrupted by Fawkes squawking and flying erratically round the room.

"Is he alright?!" Asked the young man in black.

"He will be, but I've been remiss have I not, poor Fawkes?" Crooned Dumbledore. "I quite forget he is a youngster again now; I'm afraid he misbehaves when he doesn't get his sleep, or I leave him unchecked. _No_! No biting Fawkes. Come and let me put you to bed."

Dumbledore gave an admonitory tap to the beak of the phoenix, and set him on his perch before casting a darkening charm around him. Almost at once, a soft whistle signalled Fawkes was fast asleep. So simple! Thought Severus; I've been a bloody idiot! He abandoned the answer he was about to give.

"If I _do_ stay in Slytherin …"

Dumbledore peered over his spectacles.

"Then _I_ am in charge. _I_ make the rules."

"My dear young man, Hogwarts' Heads of House have always been given immense latitude in how they run things. All houses are different; the Sorting Hat sees to that. Really it is just my role to see we comply with all the Ministry demands of us in the educational sphere. How we get there is for you to decide; you know your students best. But might I enquire as to what changes you have in mind?"

"Not sure yet …"

"You will remember they're only children, won't you?"

"That's precisely what I've forgotten this past year, and what I intend to bear in mind."

Severus could see the old man remained quizzical.

"Headmaster, this past year has been torture for me …"

"Ah … the first year of teaching, I remember it well!"

"You saved me from Azkaban and I'll forever be indebted to you, though the price I'm paying is high. But …"

"Do you wish to renege on the deal, Severus?"

At once, all warmth disappeared from Dumbledore, but Snape wasn't the terrified young man of last year. He breathed deeply and collected his thoughts. He _knew_.

On a visit to _The Hog's Head_ , Severus found his recent past preceded him. He was shunned by the patrons, but someone took pity on him, and allowed him to drink in a backroom. He became a regular visitor, and the same person spoke to the friendless young man, eventually confiding in him.

"Forgive me Headmaster, but I believe you too know something of the folly of youth, the search for glory and unwise alliances … the pain of bad choices …"

Snape brought up all the memories of what he'd been told of Ariana. Dumbledore and Grindelwald's plans for the subjugation of muggles came next, their quest for glory, and the battle that ended it all. He placed them at the front of his mind, and let them sit there unfettered. It wasn't long before he felt the delicate probings of Dumbledore.

"I'm always wary when a person prefaces a sentence with 'forgive me', and … ah! I see I was right. You've made the acquaintance of Aberforth. How is my brother? Well, I hope?"

Snape nodded, and felt Dumbledore finish casting around his mind.

"What is it you want, Severus?"

"I want you to remember I came to you."

"Of course you did."

"And I want you to understand this; I will protect the Potter child _and_ the children of Slytherin."

"But Slytherin House is under no threat; they terrorise the whole school."

"That's the point! A reign of terror never lasts; it brings reprisals. Last week I bid farewell to ten Slytherins and was relieved to see the back of them. I congratulated myself on never having to see them again; what a dreadful thing …"

"They were some of the most difficult students we've ever had, Severus. I myself was at a loss with what to do about the Delingpole twins."

"They were in my care, and I sent them out into the world as bullying savages! I won't do that to another child."

In that moment Dumbledore took a leap of faith. He had no idea what Severus intended, and apparently neither did Severus. But realisation struck that this brittle and sharp young man had great reserves. He was a force to be reckoned with, and Dumbledore wanted him at his back. His appointment would not only safeguard the future of the Potter's child, but might also reduce the threat of Slytherin.

 **25** **th** **February, 1995**

Snape buried deep in his memory the taunting of Potter, Weasley and Granger. He knew the Dark Lord would go searching and enjoy his barbed speech at the trio's expense. But it bought him to more recent matters. Archie Delingpole went into the pensieve. The memory spread out like indigo dye dropped in water.

 **August 28** **th** **, 1994**

"Headmaster! The child cannot come here!"

"Why ever not, Severus? His family has always been in Slytherin."

"He'll be at risk. They're searching for the Mirror."

"We have powerful protections here, and I have great faith in you. You've changed Slytherin House, Severus. I truly don't know how you did it. Just yesterday I found myself wondering on whether Armitage-Brown had been sorted correctly. You know he's stepping out with charming Cecily Knaresborough from Hufflepuff?"

Fourteen years on and Albus Dumbledore was every bit as maddening, but things had changed. Snape had changed. They'd reached an accommodation. Albus indulged his fantasy of character governing house selection - primarily to goad Snape - and Snape forbore. _He_ occasionally treated the students with a vindictiveness that would find most schools closed the same afternoon, and Albus looked the other way. There was trust, and so Snape trusted his headmaster. One by one Severus dropped in every memory pertaining to the Mirror of Merlin; he knew nothing about it.

 **Meanwhile … back at Hogwarts …**

Things were getting a bit heated in the fourth-year girls' dorm; caused by both the number of people crammed in there, and the opposing camps which were beginning to form. Like Snape, AB and Sophie were also having an evening away from the dungeons, and plenty saw that as an opportunity for a lark. Pansy took to the hustings and appealed to her electorate.

"Snape said no one leaves _the castle_ ; I'm not suggesting we do. We'll still be in the same wing, for goodness' sake! Oh, _come on_! We haven't done anything for _ages_ now!"

What she had in mind appealed to most. There were some undecided voters however, namely the 'Hogsmeade 10'. Millicent had them firmly in her sights as she rose to give her speech.

"Well, we did have the spectacle of a public caning, or have you forgotten that, Pansy?! _Swish_! _Swish_! _Swish_! _Swish_! _Swish_! And _SWISH_! Is that what you all want?!"

That made everyone think; the whole room shrivelled, squirmed, or clutched their backsides protectively. Harry felt it a shame; he was still buoyed by Snape's injunction to go forth and be a teen-aged nitwit. He turned and whispered furiously with Pucey, Bletch, Aitcheson, Jemima, and the rest of the fourth. Something else was bothering him. The term was almost over; he'd be getting booted out soon, and he wanted one last fling with the Snakes. Theo Nott came to the rescue.

"Hold on, the castle _must_ be safe, or no way would Snape leave for the evening. And he'd never give AB and Sophie permission to go visiting; they're the only responsible prefects we have."

"How very dare you!"

Started Pucey, but when he saw everyone nod in agreement, he gave up. Nott was the likeliest candidate to _not_ join in, so his approval swayed many. Millicent would have to come up with something good. The girl in question rapped the heel of her slipper on the bedhead, and called for hush.

"Let's be Slytherin about this … let's have fun, _and_ keep on the right side of Snape, no sense taking risks where we don't need to. I suggest a bumper quiz on _The Catcher in the Rye_! Winning team gets to pick next month's book!"

Pansy won unanimously.

 **oOo**

Probably the number one communal Slytherin game - they had plenty - _Ghosts in the Graveyard_ sent two 'ghosts' to hide on specified abandoned floors of the castle. The seekers stayed put in the common room and gave them a head start, then proceeded to track them down in pairs, only one quarter-strength lumos per pair allowed - no easy feat in the dark and eerily abandoned parts of the castle they chose. When the 'ghosts' had finally been tracked down, the successful seeker yelled "ghosts in the graveyard!" and everyone scrambled madly for the common room with said ghosts in hot pursuit. The first two the ghosts caught then went on to hide. For added frisson - and this being Slytherin students - the ghosts were also allowed to hurl stinging hexes at any retreating backside. Ghouls, creepy corridors, darkness, a bit of gratuitous pain and all forbidden by Snape - more fun than you could poke a stick at!

Harry felt the adrenaline course through his veins as he and Tracey Davis fumbled along the corridor with only a weak lumos to guide them. With alarm, he realised he'd dropped to the floor and out-shrieked Pansy Parkinson after he'd wandered into the last cobweb. But lush Tracey pulled him to her chest and proceeded to tenderly brush all the spider silk from his hair and brow. Just him and Tracey Davis, in the dark ... those long, cool fingers … being strong and silent was well-overrated, decided Harry.

" _Bloody hell_!"

"Sorry Harry!"

For a first-year, Archie Delingpole couldn't half lob a stinging hex.

"Archie, you prat! _Mild_ hexes only!" Snarled Malfoy, who'd also been hit.

"It's not his fault; he can't control his wand yet!" Said Harry.

"Don't baby him! He has to learn - or I'll whack him harder than Snape ever would!"

The mini-quarrel meant third-year Jeffrey Mortimer, Archie's fellow ghost, had caught and tagged Potter and Malfoy, and after everyone reassembled in the common room, Harry and Draco went hurtling off to hide. Not fast enough. Soon they heard the thundering of feet behind them and Draco had a mild tantrum at not being able to find a hiding spot.

"No way did they count to a hundred and twenty!"

But as soon as they reached the third floor, they came across an old, ancient Egyptian sarcophagus that neither had noticed earlier. Easing the stiff, creaking door open, the pair slipped inside, gently pulled shut the lid and found it roomy enough that they were able to slide down onto their bottoms. Not hugely comfortable, but good enough to wait out the next round of the game. Though it did get a bit hot in there, and Malfoy began wriggling to get off his hooded sweatshirt.

"Watch out!" Whispered Harry, copping a bony elbow to the chin.

"Apologies, Princess Potter."

"Why are you so hard on Archie?"

"I'm not! Why do you treat him like a four-year-old?" Countered Malfoy.

"I don't! He's only a first-year and that stuff about his brothers …"

"We've all been through 'stuff'. You know that."

"I dunno … he seems kind of lost somehow."

"He's no such thing. He's smart as a whip, but his parents mollycoddle him. As soon as he's made to do something he doesn't like, he turns on the waterworks; he can't go through life like that. And if he doesn't learn to toughen up here with people that actually care and understand his family's problems, when will he?"

" _Shush_!" Harry ordered, "I can hear someone!"

"I can't hear anything." Complained Malfoy.

"If you'd shut up, you would."

Harry was right; there was someone coming, two 'someones' in fact. The unmistakable gasp, shriek, giggle and snort of someone being goosed drifted down the corridor.

"Pucey's on the prowl." Whispered Malfoy, "And by the sounds of it, he's partnered Jemima. Oh! Jemima … what a gal!"

"She sounds upset. What's he doing to her?"

"What? That's Pucey you can hear!"

"He's shrieking like a girl."

"Judge not - until you too have felt Jemima's touch!"

"And you have?" Mocked a disbelieving Harry, "She's a sixth-year."

"Still can't keep her hands off me, and what powerful hands!"

"Dream on, Malfoy!"

A _SNAP_ and a _SCRAPE_ of metal. Their nattering had caused them not to notice the closer approach of Pucey and Jemima. But now they were sure they'd been found, and by rights, they should have been knocking open the sarcophagus lid, hollering and scaring their finders witless - but they didn't. They somehow knew something had gone awry. With an unspoken sense of desolation they listened to the retreating voices.

"That was so naughty!" 'Scolded' Jemima Deacon.

A hearty slap-on-bottom sounded out.

"Cripes, Jem! I'm still recovering from Snape's cane. Have a heart!"

"You are _not_! That was ages ago! But would you like me to kiss it better?!"

"Not half!"

Harry turned his head to see Draco plugging his ears and dry retching.

"Have they gone?" Asked Draco, ears still plugged.

Harry nodded.

"Merlin! I hope I was never that craven when I was with Jemima!"

"You weren't."

"How do _you_ know?"

"Because you were never with her! And would you mind returning from fantasyland for a moment, so we can figure out what's going on?"

Malfoy huffed as he shifted slightly to face Potter.

"This sarcophagus wasn't here the first four games we played, was it?" Harry asked.

"Nope." Answered a glum Draco.

"Someone moved it here knowing we'd hide in it, didn't they?"

"Yep."

"That snap and the scraping noise we heard was Pucey closing the latch and jamming it with something, wasn't it?"

"Yep."

"We're in deep shit, aren't we?"

"Yep."

Draco dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

"Millicent! I can't believe I fell for this … the 'Slytherin Stratagem' …"

"Explain."

"Remember 'The Durmstrang Fiasco'?"

Harry nodded. He and Malfoy had got everyone in the shit that night; they'd all copped it. Bloody hell, that was it! Malfoy had told him Millicent enjoyed a long, simmering revenge. He was right; that was ages ago! Her bonkers suggestion in the dorm made sense now. She wanted everyone playing this game. He thought some more.

"Was Pansy in on it, too?"

"Course she was." Answered Malfoy, "They all were. This is how we get back at anyone that causes trouble with Snape. Lull them into a false sense of security, trap them and lead Snape to them. He takes care of the rest."

Harry didn't need that last bit; he'd figured it out for himself. Snape had promised them ten the next time they mucked about. He couldn't face thinking about the cane; he focussed solely on the slipper, and that had him mentally whimpering.

"Snape wasn't serious about the ten, was he?"

"No. No Potter, he wasn't. He was kidding. Does it all the time. Laugh a minute, our head of house."

"Point taken."

They both stared at the wrong side of the locked door; Harry contemplating Snape's wrath, and Draco consumed by something else. After a few false starts, he spoke.

"I heard you and Granger that time in the old alchemy classroom; the afternoon you were talking about the Delingpoles' mirror."

The impending threat to his backside didn't matter a jot now. Draco had heard about Archie and … well the rest was obvious, wasn't it? His face hid nothing of his fears.

"I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong." Said Draco, "My father is the last person you need worry about. He's not a threat … it's … it's Ezra Vickery …"

"Who's Ezra Vickery?"

"I don't know." Said Malfoy.

"Stop pissing around, Malfoy!" Snarled Harry, "You sneak up on a private conversation; hear something you're not meant to, and you think it's something to joke about?!"

If Harry had had a bit more elbow room, he'd have punched ferret-boy again. Malfoy had the same thought, but instead, he drew in a breath and attempted to speak calmly.

"Just stop the righteous indignation for a second, will you? _Think_. If I'd wanted to use that knowledge, I'd have already told my father and Archie would be gone."

Of course he would. Harry realised the sense to that, and his shoulders slumped in relief and a little shame.

"Listen to me while I explain about Ezra Vickery. _Please_. Just listen to me."

Draco Malfoy saying please? Got to be a first.

"My father's a weak man with a weak man's faults; he's the last person who'd wish to face the Mirror of Merlin, but there are others … When I was little, I heard them come to our house. I never saw them and I never heard what they said, but I knew they were bad. Father was always different after they'd left - anxious and snappier than normal. The visits gave me nightmares. It was Snape who gave them the name 'Ezra Vickery'; he said if something has a name it isn't as terrifying as a dark unknown. It helped too. So that's who Ezra Vickery is … people I don't know, but people who are dangerous. I don't know what to do, Potter, but I know this; we have to keep Archie safe. We don't like each other and we're not friends, but I'll help you all I can."

Harry stared at him for a long while; he believed every word.

"Can we stop saying that? The not being friends bit, I mean. I don't know what your definition of friendship is, but we've been in trouble together, shared our secrets, pulled the 'Durmstrang Fiasco' together and now we're in this mess together. Doesn't that make us sort of friends?"

"Fine. But if anyone says anything, you asked to be my friend first."

"Whatever, you prat."

Harry pulled at the torn rubber on the toe of his Converse and debated telling Malfoy some of his own secrets. Bugger it, he thought; I will.

"My family hate the sight of me; call me a freak. At the end of every summer term, I usually do something that makes Dumbledore hail me a hero - then he packs me off to shitty Little Whinging and my even shittier aunt and uncle. Do you know what my bedroom used to be?"

And Harry continued. Malfoy was genuinely shocked, but even so, this _was_ Malfoy and he couldn't resist snickering at 'house elf Harry' and his hand-me-down underpants.

"I never wore Dudley's underpants."

"I bet you did!"

Just like Harry had been with Snape, he was relieved to have an audience that didn't coo and simper. The Slytherin ethos was winning him over; things _were_ more bearable when you didn't take yourself too seriously. The topic switched back to Archie with Malfoy hypothesizing that Snape must know about the Mirror. That, he said, was why their Head of House introduced the new evening regulations and was even more unyielding in being obeyed than usual. They were in trouble already, but if Snape ever found out they'd allowed first-years to play along with them … Malfoy couldn't even verbalize Snape's fury; just sucked his teeth and shook his head. As if on cue, a pattering of small feet arrived outside the sarcophagus.

"Are you still in there?"

Archie Delingpole!

"Is the lid still jammed shut?" Malfoy demanded.

"Yes."

"Then of course we're still here!"

"Sorry! Thought you could open it. Thought you were, you know, magic; didn't know you were a squib!"

"Archie, when I get out of here …"

"Leave it, Malfoy. We need him, remember?"

Draco swallowed his ire and instead began coaxing Archie in how to free them by wiggling the metal spearhead that had been jammed into the catch. Upon their release he stayed calm enough to assure Archie he was indeed a most powerful wizard-in-training. Next he scolded the young boy for performing the rescue alone and finally, impressed Harry by picking him up and placing him on his shoulders in preparation for a lightning race back to the dungeon.

A breathless Archie told them Snape was back and up with Dumbledore; this doubled their pace. Then, at the bottom of the south staircase, behind Filch's office, Malfoy pulled up abruptly - almost sending the featherweight first-year headfirst onto the stone floor.

" _Bollocks_! Licorus Black! What do we do about him?! He's going to tell everything to Snape!"

"He would if he knew …" A sly-sounding Archie said.

"Go on." Said Draco.

"I told him I'd seen Sir Cadogan in the Fat Lady's portrait handing her a posy of flowers. He's gone to Gryffindor; he wants to challenge him to a duel!"

"Licorus Black fancies the Fat Lady?!" Asked Harry.

"Brilliant Archie! See Potter? This is no sissy; he's a master of cunning and guile!"

" _Severus_!"

McGonagall! Harry could recognise that screech and those staccato heel clicks a mile away.

"Could you please try and talk some sense into Licorus …"

"A moment, Minerva. I thought I heard some students."

Snape was on the fourth or fifth floor, but the familiar clip of leather sole on stone was getting louder.

"Shit! What do we do?" Whispered Malfoy.

Archie pointed to the long, scarlet curtains.

"My new hiding spot. We could go there."

Just as they tucked themselves behind the heavy brocade, Harry asked why Archie had a hiding spot.

"I need to be alone sometimes …"

Harry understood.

"Who showed you it?" Asked Malfoy.

"Professor Snape."

" _Idiot_!" Hissed Malfoy, cuffing Archie, "This is the first place he'll look!"

The first-year rubbed his head, and looked to Harry with plaintive eyes.

"You are a bit of an idiot, Archie." Harry said.

Snape's leather soles - and the rest of him - were getting closer. Could they make a dash across the hall to the dungeon stairs? Unlikely. All of a sudden, Filch's door creaked open, but he didn't come towards the boys, he went to the staircase.

"That you, Professor Snape?"

The pinging of leather on stone ceased; the boys knew their housemaster was sighing at the prospect of another interminable Filch rant on lax discipline. They took their chance, and flew down the spiral staircase, into the dungeon and up to the dorms. All three were under their covers in less than a minute. It had been, Harry reflected, quite a night.

 **oOo**

 **26th February, 1995**

Harry reckoned it was about 4.30 in the morning. His eiderdown had fallen off and his shoulders were aching with cold. He reached down to the floor to grab the sweatshirt he'd tossed there last night, and that's what reminded him. Malfoy's hoodie! Maybe it was a bit of a stretch that Snape would go snooping in a forgotten sarcophagus on an abandoned floor of the castle, but you just never knew with that man. In any case, he was awake now, and even Filch and Mrs Norris didn't prowl at this hour. He'd nip off to get it, then slip back to bed for a quick kip before inspection. Easy as.

 **oOo**

 **Snape's quarters**

The hours from five to eight were child-free - no Pansy attempting to wear black seamed stockings instead of knee socks, no Vincent pretending not to understand work he was more than capable of, and no Draco-led nonsense borne of jealousy and loneliness. Snape gulped down the contents of the little glass phial and realised that, barring the brief reappearance of those damned badges, Draco's last piece of mean-spiritedness had been at the start of term when he'd tried to hex Potter.

He'd been hard on him that day - not that he didn't deserve it, but there was a nagging doubt in his mind that the true reason he'd made an example of him in the common room had been the self-congratulatory look on Moody's face as he'd dragged Malfoy to Snape. Moody hadn't been appalled at Malfoy's behaviour; he'd positively revelled in it. That's how Slytherins were meant to behave. Still, he wasn't about to get sentimental over misbehaved students; they knew the rules _and_ the consequences of breaking them. But a change had come over Lucius' son of late, and it gave Severus hope.

The hip flask of Grappa had been fine; it'd been the numerous nightcaps once he'd finally got rid of Argus Filch that had given him the blinder between the eyes. The potion worked better if he moved around, and so he left his rooms to saunter the corridors of Hogwarts, not caring he was barefoot and pyjama-clad; who'd see him at 5am? Even the portraits were still snoozing.

 **oOo**

"That blasted child! What in Merlin's name is he doing?" Snape muttered to himself as he stopped on the third-floor corridor, leant against a doorway and waited for Potter to look up and see him.

 _"Sir_?! I … umm …I"

Bollocks! He was caught.

"I … I went for a wander, sir, and left my jumper behind."

"It's Malfoy's." Said Snape.

"He lent it to me."

"Did he?"

It was a question in word order only; Snape clearly didn't believe him. The tall man gave a quick jerk of his head and Harry trooped along after him, unsure what was going to happen next but so amused to be following his normally fastidious housemaster, who was bare-foot and wearing only navy blue pyjama bottoms and a well-worn tee-shirt, that he struggled to care.

"Sofa?" Harry asked as Snape opened his study door. "Just get in." Said Snape.

 **oOo**

"Is that your final word? That you were out wandering alone?"

"Yes sir."

Snape stared at him and Harry wondered if he was digging his own grave.

"Very well."

"Is that it?!" Asked an incredulous Harry.

Snape breathed in deeply, stepped towards Harry and grabbed his left hand, whereupon he placed three sharp slaps on the back of it.

"Don't. Do it. Again!"

Harry laughed at the four-year-old's punishment.

"If I send you back to bed, will you sleep?"

"Probably not."

"Then sit down."

Snape went into his small kitchen and filled up the kettle. Going through the motions of preparing a tea tray, his mind set to pondering. Yes, there'd been a breach of his precious morning solitude, but this breach was a welcome one. Potter and Malfoy had been in cahoots last night, and Potter had sought to shield Draco. He'd also lied to Snape's face; something that usually brought about a swift penalty. But not today. Today it worked in Snape's favour.

He knew his own behaviour towards Potter had been less than honourable, and he couldn't excuse it all away by saying he'd acted like that to fend off suspicions from zealous Slytherin parents. No, he'd been exacting vengeance on a dead nemesis. Potter junior had been collateral damage, the hatred for the senior version still burning deep within Severus. But the child had shown himself to be decent.

However, just as he'd misjudged Potter, so too did the rest of Hogwarts misjudge Draco Malfoy. The Draco that Snape and the Slytherins knew certainly liked attention, but what of it? In Severus' experience, children who liked attention were children who needed it. All it took to satisfy his desire for the limelight was let Malfoy show off his potions and charms prowess to the younger years. He got to preen and the lower school were well taught into the bargain.

But Snape would concede that the Malfoy the rest of the school saw was a different matter. He took the hurt at his father's coldness and turned it outwards, spitting out bile. The seeming adoration of his father was not for Lucius at all, but an imaginary father that adored him. It was piteous wish fulfilment. And though Severus believed a special place in the seventh circle of hell was reserved for the proponents of psycho-babble, any adult who looked carefully could see that. Malfoy, however, was a Slytherin, and Slytherins missed out on that extra care.

He set the tea tray down on the table and called Potter.

"Hungry?"

"Not really, sir. Could do with a cuppa, though."

Severus poured, and Harry complimented him on the tea.

" _Yorkshire Tea_ \- I'm a traitor to my Lancastrian roots, but it's a fine brew."

This should have been so awkward. Harry'd stayed put on the sofa, but his eyes had scanned the whole room. He'd seen things, cigarette papers and an ashtray next to the open window, a butt with a smudge of dark pink lipstick on it, the end of a letter from a woman named Henrietta G. Who was Henrietta G? Well, she was no maiden aunt; that's for sure. Curious bottles were dotted around the bookshelves, and they weren't fruit cordials. Small glass phials were held in a wooden rack on the sideboard. One had been opened and its neck was lined with crystallized remains; it reminded him of the _Alka Seltzer_ residue on Uncle Vernon's glass after a big night at the golf club. A priggish part of him wondered if Dumbledore was aware of all this? Then he thought again; actually he quite liked it. Why shouldn't Snape have an adult life? He hadn't taken holy orders.

But it wasn't just the hints at extra-curricular activity; Harry saw other things - a half-begun shopping list. Apparently Snape liked black silk socks and _Ovaltine_ \- an odd combination, but oddly comforting also. He sipped his tea and wondered what quirks the other professors had. Did Flitwick have a fancy for glacéed fruit and Bovril? Just about to dream up something McGonagall might like, Snape pushed a plate of toast towards him.

"Eat something, Potter. You're too young to wake up without an appetite."

He didn't object; Harry loved toast. It was the one treat he could easily make himself at the Dursleys once the three of them were asleep. Snape's was good too, _and_ he gave Harry a pot of lemon butter to go with it, though he did insist Harry ate up the crusts. Harry munched and noticed his host's eyes were rapidly losing their red tinge and that he wasn't rubbing his temples so much. He should market whatever was in those phials to Muggles; he'd make a killing.

Snape looked at the puny boy opposite him. War was coming; he could feel it. Not to worry; the five foot four boy who sighed at eating a toast crust would save them all … He almost groaned, but instead offered up a silent prayer that Potter's appearance be mightily deceptive. Snape didn't think for a moment his house would fare well in the struggle. There were families that remained steadfast in their opposition to Voldemort - The Armitage-Browns, the Bulstrodes, the Zabinis, the Delingpoles and others. A few he could help edge towards independence from their noxious parents - Pucey, Urquhart, Blishwick and Bletchley et al. But what of the younger students? Severus once more indulged his plan of hiding them at Loghalsh. Perhaps … perhaps not. His Slytherins' loyalty to each other was tenacious, but could he expect young children to turn against their parents?

While the fighting would be dreadful, the true horror, as with any war, would come later. People thought the settling of the dust marked the end of war; he knew better. Reparations and retribution would be sought from the vanquished; examples would be made; names would be blacklisted. A whole generation of children, whose crime had been to have the wrong parents, would be cast out from the wizarding world.

He'd made great strides with his house; he _would_ congratulate himself on that. They were no longer tearing each other apart; the bullying had ceded way to genuine affection. But it would count for naught if war came and they were still despised by the rest of the school. Some of his students were welcomed into other houses, but most were scorned. Severus realised his taming of Slytherin had been a job half done. Alliances forged now would hold together long after the war; history taught that. And Malfoy and Potter, it would seem, had begun the second half of the job for him. Toast consumed, Severus tapped on the table.

"Did you vanquish the Dark Lord, Potter?"

Where did _that_ come from?

" _Really_ vanquish him?"

"I was fifteen months old!"

"Potter!"

"I … I … I think he'll be back."

"I think so too."

A few moments of silence came before Snape punctured it.

"You no doubt believe that once the great show-down between good and evil has been won, that that will be that?"

Harry stayed silent. He did think that; what more could there be? But he sensed Snape waiting for a wrong answer, and stayed shtum.

"You do, and you're wrong. But many believe that falsehood. Let me tell you, war continues long after the last hex has been thrown. That marks the start of the true horror, for then the victors grow drunk on power; spite, vengeance and retribution are given full rein. The show trials commence and the pitiable are flayed."

"But if people are evil, they deserve to be punished." Argued Harry.

Snape leant to the window sill, and plucked a bloom and a bud from the hellebore there.

"Which of these is the most beautiful?"

"That's not a fair question. That one's only in bud; I don't know what it'll be like when it blooms."

" _Exactly_. _Precisely_. Poor Harry Potter … the boy with the rotten start in life …"

That contemptuous tone. Harry felt bereft. This morning had been such a rare treat. For some strange reason he'd felt honoured to be in Snape's study at such an unconventional hour and secretly witness the commonplace yet intimate items of his private life. He hadn't been mocked like this for so long now. But Snape continued.

"It _was_. It _was_ a hard start; alone and placed with vile relatives. You've done well Potter, but you were always on the right path. What about a child your own age who'd been taught from the cradle they were superior? Who's to blame for them believing others are lesser beings?"

"The parents! It's wrong to do that!"

"Indeed it is, but it happens, especially in my own house. Listen to me Potter and listen carefully. You are walking the path of good, but you were placed on that path. Others started life treading a different path, yet they've changed course. Can you point to anyone in Slytherin you consider evil?"

Harry couldn't, not even Malfoy, or Pansy - for all her sporadic outbreaks of bitchiness.

"Can you judge a person for not advancing as far on the path as you when, given time, they may outstrip even your own progress?"

When Snape put it like that, he couldn't.

"No."

"And those nitwits you were cheerfully breaking the rules with last night?"

Ah … he hadn't fooled Snape …

"What happens to them after the fighting? What if they're not strong enough to defy their parents? Are they to have their wands broken and be cast out? Imprisoned? Do you want that?"

Harry knew about Azkaban. Muggle execution sounded preferable, and he was certain Sirius hadn't shared all the horror. He thought of Pucey and his terrifying parents, and then saw him cowering in a cell. Greg and Vincent joined him in Harry's mind, then Malfoy, Daphne and Bletch. What of Theo? Harry didn't know about his family, but something seemed rotten.

"Am I frightening you, Potter?"

Green eyes growing round and huge were answer enough.

"Then let me pour some balm on those fears. What will happen, will happen. People will do things that confound you. Bad times will come, but they too will end. Just remember this; there is strength in numbers and alliances, but most of all there is strength in friendship. Plain, uncomplicated fellowship has a worth beyond rubies. Remember what you've gained here in Slytherin, not just for my Snakes, but for yourself. Rancour and vengeance will turn you to dust."

They both sat in silence. Snape sipping on yet another cup of tea, and Harry thinking on those words. Malfoy and his unexpected honesty about his father came to mind, Pansy and her occasional acts of decency and kindness. He thought of Pucey, and how he'd renounced his family. What about Crabbe and Goyle? Would they have the strength to do that? And if they didn't, could they truly be blamed? Eventually he spoke.

"You know sir, I think you underestimate your Snakes."

"It's my job to underestimate and worry, but perhaps you're right. I hope you are."

"I am."

"Dishes, Potter." Declared Snape eyeing the tea cups and plates, "Added punishment for your wandering."

"Shall I wash this too?!" Smirked Harry, picking up the glass phial.

"My hay fever medication? How decent of you!"


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N 1:** This is a long chapter, and it mentions a lot of things that have taken place in previous chapters, but I've tried to add 'reminders' and make it reader-friendly. I hope I've been successful!

 **A/N 2:** If you're still reading this story, I'm immensely grateful to you! Thank you all for making my first story-posting such a lovely experience.

 **A/N 3:** As ever, a big thank you to guests, Fan and Hamlet! FYI, Hamlet, Corrour Station was my inspiration! As regards Lily, I'm afraid she (and her saint-like storyline) has never appealed, but the 'Lily-lovers' have hundreds of fan fics to get their fix - I'm definitely in the minority! Also, I read tons of stories where people have different character ideas to mine; it'd be so dull if we all wrote the same thing. Anyone with rigid notions on character and plot should stop waiting for a complete stranger to divine those notions, start typing and write their own story - we're all amateurs on this site!

 **Chapter 33**

 **The Inspectors**

 **Slytherin Common Room, 7:20 am, 5** **th** **March, 1995**

Harry had come to love it down in the dungeons, the warm stone, the smell of polished leather and beeswaxed wood, the welcoming candlelight. He peered around the common room, and wondered what the difference was. It _seemed_ the same, but no way was it like last week. The walls weren't warm, they were unyielding. The wood had turned gloomy, the leather dull. Had all the candles been lit? It didn't seem so.

Why do we only notice things in their absence? Had you asked Harry last week to describe Snape's morning inspection, he'd have rolled his eyes and told you what a pain the in the arse it was. Snape was a git, he'd tell you; he never had anything nice to say. The man lived for finding fault. But Harry was sure he wasn't the only person to have felt slighted yesterday when Snape sailed past his unbuttoned shirt cuffs without comment. In fact, Snape's piss poor performance of the last week had offended everyone; he was currently hovering between a 'poor' and a 'dreadful' in most Snakes' estimation. No one wanted to admit it, but there was something reassuring about how he knew your study timetable better than you did yourself, _and_ how he was always trying to trick you into admitting you hadn't done enough prep. And when it got to that point in proceedings when he habitually made a great show of reading out the week's award winners only to do multiple double-takes, and then look at the Snakes in shock,

"What?! But how can this be? No _Splendid Sprouts!_ this week? No _Divine Diviner's_ to speak of? Not one measly _Flitwick's Little Charmer_ amongst the sad, sorry lot of you?!"

everyone felt robbed by its omission. Snape _was_ Slytherin, and it was shit when he wasn't playing ball. Of course, Snape's lack of engagement wasn't a complete mystery; Harry knew what the problem was.

 **oOo**

 **26** **th** **February, Elves' Laundry**

Ever since the laundry punishment, Harry, Malfoy and Hermione had been theorizing as to what those Ministry falcons were about. They even sweet-talked Dobby into letting them return to the laundry; it was the only place that had a clear view up to the Headmaster's Tower. But it hadn't been an easy task.

" _Master Harry Potter_!" Dobby wailed as he wrung his over-large hands, " _In a laundry_!"

Dobby had heard all about the boys' punishment, and been suitably appalled to discover he could be wearing a tea towel that his hero might have washed. Looking at Dobby's suspiciously flat ears, Harry suspected a bit of body-ironing had taken place.

"It's okay, Dobby. I really am used to doing laundry and cleaning." Harry assured.

That failed to placate; his wailing grew louder and his hands slapped at his head. This act of self-loathing set off Hermione, who promptly mounted her soap-box to educate everyone on the cruel mistreatment of elves. Why shouldn't witches and wizards clean, cook and launder, she demanded to know, before going off on a hyperbolic flight of fancy about the ancient and mysterious magic the elves possessed; an arcane magic no mere witch or wizard could hope to understand. As Hermione hectored, Dobby wailed and slapped with increasing ferocity; Harry stood helpless, and Malfoy watched it all with detached amusement, until it finally began to irritate him.

"Shut up, Granger; you're not helping."

He said as he pushed past Hermione and strode to the centre of the room.

"Dobby, it's perfectly hideous down here, and we don't like it one bit. _But_ if we don't turn in an _Exceptional_ essay on the historical and present-day role of house elves, Snape's promised Potter and I a righteous slippering, and Granger will have it noted on her record she hands in only barely acceptable work."

She knew Malfoy was fibbing, but even so, the words 'barely acceptable' linked to her name silenced Hermione. Dobby peeped between his fingers, and looked hopefully at Harry.

"Dobby's helping you?"

Harry nodded, and Dobby backed out of the room.

"That's the way to do it." Asserted a smug Draco, "Be decisive! Be Slytherin about it!"

"Shut up, Malfoy." Said Hermione.

 **oOo**

 **4** **th** **March, 1995, Elves' Laundry**

Everyday thereafter, they were beckoned by an unctuous Dobby into the room. Not that it did them much good; they went round in circles repeating what they already knew. They just didn't have any new information. They'd barely seen Snape, and the prefects were similarly absent for much of the time. When he did show up, blabbermouth Adrian Pucey suddenly grew very close-lipped; they couldn't get him to spill anything. Archie disappeared regularly, only to return in the company of Sophie and Latimer, or occasionally Urquhart. One self-important look from the prefects told Harry and Draco not to bother wheedling for information.

"Snape must spend _some_ time with you." Said Hermione, "What's he like when he does? Does he seem angry, calm or worried?"

"Hard to say." Answered Harry, "He just seems kind of distant, really."

"He's making a plan, then." She declared.

"See, Potter?" Said Draco, "Even Granger knows he is. I told you we could relax. Snape will take care of this; we just keep to the side-lines."

"Oh, I don't mean that." Said Hermione quickly, "We should have our own plan."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, cursed at the arrogance of Gryffindors, and spoke.

"What if the plan we make gets in the way of Snape's plan, what then? Two plans don't work."

"You're right."

"Finally, some sense!" Said Malfoy

But Hermione hadn't finished.

"You both need to go and tell Professor Snape everything you know about the Delingpoles and The Mirror of Merlin. It's the only sensible thing to do."

Draco temporarily lost the power of speech. All he could do was gape at Hermione and shake his head. He turned to Harry.

"And what do you make of this 'sensible' suggestion, Potter?"

Harry smiled wryly, "Suicide mission."

Now it was time for Malfoy to mount his soap-box.

"Granger," He began, "we've lied our way into here when we should be in prep - for an entire week. We - _you_ \- found out there was a risk to Archie, and didn't say a word to Snape, or any professor for that matter. We've known about it for months, _and_ sneaked around in forbidden parts of the castle to discuss it. Potter and I have been pressing Archie for information, and you've even made enquiries to his home village to get more. Do you have the faintest idea what Snape would do if he knew this?!"

"But we have good intentions!" She argued.

"Snape won't see it like that; he'll call it lying by omission. Do you know what he does to liars?"

She did.

"And don't think being a Gryffindor will save you. If Snape's in a rage, he won't care."

Malfoy wasn't sure that last bit was true, but it seemed to rattle her. She looked to Harry, and he nodded. The suggestion was dropped. And really, they had nothing else; just wait for whatever was going to happen to happen. The purplish hue to the sky told them it was getting late, and no sooner had the three turned their backs and left, than a falcon flew up to the Headmaster's Tower to tap imperiously on the glass.

 **oOo**

 **5** **th** **March, Snape's quarters, prior to morning inspection**

Snape was still figuring out how to play this. As if nothing had happened? Perhaps, but his students weren't dim; they knew something was up. He'd been so preoccupied this last week that they'd seized the opportunity to relax standards. He knew prep wasn't being done properly; knew Alicia Mayhew had been sneaking out of her dorm and causing trouble with the third-years, and knew Pansy had received an illicit order from _Fenella's Fabulous Shoes_. The trouble was he just didn't have the time or energy to do anything about it. Merlin's magic was proving far more difficult to remove from the mirror than either he or Albus had anticipated, which meant Snape having to help with research. Added to that, he was busy formulating a plan with his prefects and Delingpole for the inevitable attempt to snatch the boy.

It was an oh-so-tempting proposition to take him up to Loghalsh and leave him there with his parents. Either that, or shroud the boy in James Potter's cloak. But that wouldn't work; as dangerous as it was, he needed Delingpole in plain sight to flush out the attacker. Preparations weren't easy when you'd no idea of the timing, or perpetrators, of a planned attack. But now he did know. Word had reached the castle late yesterday afternoon that Ministry inspectors were due today. This was the time for action, and he was ready for it. There was risk, to be sure, but the murkiness, the greyness, the not-knowingness had gone. Now back to his Snakes …

Could he give a rousing speech, and inspire them to obedience? Possibly. But that carried the risk some nitwit would get over-excited and try to help, buggering things up in the process. He looked up from his armchair and saw the cupboard behind his desk. Now there was a thought … he could always take his cane to morning inspection, and put a bit of fear into them. Actually, it wasn't 'his' cane at all. It had been the property of Apollyon Pringle, Filch's predecessor. And to think the brats dared complain of Argus; they had no idea …

Filch had never used it, and Snape had never asked why, though he suspected the old curmudgeon preferred to complain rather than take action. At the time, once Lucius had left, he was simply grateful to be given occasional refuge from the hateful Marauders. But he'd demanded the cane from Argus that Sunday afternoon back in '82. Albus had shown him the vicious ' _In_ _Sympathy_ ' card Dominic Aspinall and Gertrude Howell had sent Minerva on the anniversary of Dougal McGregor's death, forcefully suggesting Snape 'deal emphatically' with the two Slytherin fourth-years. Snape had; doled out a dozen to each of them, in fact. It had been an unpleasant afternoon for all involved, but Snape had learned two things. Firstly, twelve strokes was excessive. He didn't have the stomach for reducing a student to a sobbing heap; a short, sharp shock was all that was required. And secondly, the effectiveness of having a cane was reduced each time it was used - much better to keep it lingering somewhere in the dark recesses of his students' minds.

No. He didn't need the cane; he just needed to get back to his old self. He stood up to brush down his coat and gown, and immediately dropped back into the armchair. Minerva … bugger! Severus hadn't said a word to her about the real reason for the Ministry visit. Should he? He was storing up a formidable amount of consternation from the old witch once she found out. At least, he hoped it would be consternation, and not the dreaded 'disappointment', or worse, 'hurt'. But he rather felt he'd stick to his plan; in a situation like this the fewer people involved, the better. He stood again and reached for the clothes brush. His students would be waiting for him, in their new disorderly manner. It was time to get things back on track, and get this day started.

 **oOo**

 **Slytherin Common Room, morning inspection**

"Ow … ow … _OW_!"

Snape released Tracey's ear once she was standing back in line. He let a few seconds pass for his ear-pinching to fully sink in, and then stood back and watched his house frantically tuck in shirts, check top buttons were done up, surreptitiously rub shoes to a shine on socks or trouser legs, and shuffle into place until they were all awaiting his inspection with military-like precision. He still managed to find fault, viz. Miles Bletchley sporting a Pratt knot to his tie instead of the Slytherin standard, the Half-Windsor; Pansy and Daphne trying to pass off lip gloss as chap stick, and Malcolm Baddock, who'd been chewing the cuff of his school jumper. The Snakes savoured every nit-picking moment, even the two fourth-year girls didn't pout as Snape handed them his handkerchief and ordered them to rub off the offending cosmetic item. They were just pleased to have back their housemaster. Exacting as he was, they'd missed him. But some amongst their number knew the real significance. Harry nudged Malfoy,

"He's back." He whispered.

"It's on." Malfoy whispered in return.

They were right.

"The Ministry will be inspecting classes today. You will behave courteously, obey all rules, and be where you are supposed to be. Need I tell you the consequences should you do otherwise?"

Heads shook to assure their housemaster he needn't go to that trouble, and everyone was ordered to breakfast.

 **oOo**

 **The Great Hall, breakfast-time**

Draco felt like giving Hermione a good shake. Quite clearly, McGonagall had told the Gryffindors of the Ministry visit, and Hermione had put two and two together. She was looking at the Slytherin table every few seconds, trying to attract their attention. If Snape glanced over, she'd give the game away in a heartbeat.

"No subtlety, no finesse." He hissed under his breath.

"You what?" Asked Millicent.

Damn it. He was as bad as Granger. He couldn't have the whole house knowing; things were bound to go tits up then.

"This kedgeree …" He fudged, "Too spicy. The elves have got it all wrong."

"Hark at you, Little Lord Fauntleroy!"

The Snakes around him sniggered, but Malfoy let it go. He was too focused on getting through breakfast, and getting Granger out of Snape's line of sight before he rumbled them.

 **oOo**

 **8:20 am**

Should a person happen to walk under the first flight of the little-used south staircase in the entrance hall, they'd find it an ample space that even had a bench seat built into the stone wall. The space had multiple benefits; to the right it offered views up the grand staircase, and the first floor landing above. To the left, an unfettered view of the entrance could be had. It also had the advantage that hardly anyone ventured there; it was the perfect place for solitude whilst still knowing what was happening in the castle. Who discovered it? It could have been Potter, Granger, or Malfoy; each of them were outsiders in their own way.

They were there now, though they weren't making use of the bench. Tensions were too high to sit down.

"Why don't you be a bit more obvious, Granger? Why not go up to Snape, punch him in the face and tell him everything we know?!"

"Leave it, Malfoy." Said Harry.

"I wasn't sure you knew!" Said Hermione.

"Of course we know! This is a Slytherin matter!"

"You know who the inspectors are?"

Malfoy's face told Hermione he didn't. She wasn't surprised; she'd only learnt the names after returning a book to McGonagall's study, and finding a note from Dumbledore - placed inside a book, under another book, in a drawer.

"One of them is your dad, Malfoy." She whispered.

He went quiet.

"No … no … no." He repeated softly.

It wasn't denial that Lucius was there; he could well believe that. He was just waiting for the two Gryffindors to tell him they didn't want him with them, that the matter was too important, and they couldn't trust him. And if he were honest, he wasn't there simply to help Archie and his father; it was more than that. He knew how people saw him - spoilt, nasty and vindictive. This was about more than saving an innocent child and a foolish man; it had been Malfoy's opportunity to break away from all he had become. Hermione continued speaking.

"All three are from old families …established … rich families. Theo Nott's dad is here, and the woman is Prudence Sonningsby, maternal aunt to Marcus Finch."

"Just say it, Granger; they're Voldemort supporters, my father included … you think I'm one, too."

He didn't see it coming - the whack around the ear.

"Shut up, Malfoy. Stop being an idiot; we don't have time for that. You're not your father, but yes, I do think maybe they're Voldemort supporters."

It was such a scary time. A Voldemort diehard child abductor on the loose, and the suspicion it could be his dad. _And_ his ear was stinging; she'd caught the top of it, not the fleshy lobe, but Malfoy couldn't help feeling happy at her tacit acceptance of him.

"I don't think there's any 'maybe' about it." He told Hermione and Potter.

"What if this is their opportunity to snatch Archie?" Harry asked.

It was; they all knew it.

"Are they in on it together?" Hermione wondered.

They both looked to Draco.

"I'd say not. They wouldn't trust each other."

"That makes it harder," Harry said, "There's three of them we need to watch now …"

"Snape will be ready for this." Draco repeated.

"Even he can't control three people headed in different directions." Observed Hermione.

"I'll shadow my father."

He saw the doubting faces.

"Look, you have to believe me; the only way to keep my father safe is to keep Archie safe. And for your information, Potter and Granger, I would have kept Archie safe regardless."

"It's not that, you berk." Harry said, "It's _you_. What will your father do to you if you try and interfere?"

Draco paused.

"There's no other option." He shrugged.

And so a plan was made. They had to go to their first class - Potions, you understand. But once free of Snape and his obsessive search for antidotes, Malfoy would follow his father, Hermione take Sonningsby and Harry would tail Nott Senior. They'd ditch the rest of the classes, and, whenever feasible, return to the under-stair hideout to share information. When any of them had proof they were following the true suspect, they'd get word to the others.

 **oOo**

 **2:30 pm**

Harry followed as Wilberforce Nott made his way down to the Herbology rooms. Did the Slytherin first-years have Herbology? He wasn't sure of their timetable, but soon he heard the deep voices of senior students. He ducked outside, and turned up an old crate so he could peer through the grimy windows; it seemed the Hogwarts' cleaning elves didn't venture this far. Finding a vaguely clear spot to look through, he saw Nott Snr standing ramrod straight and staring intently at a flustered Professor Sprout. Evidently he disapproved of her maternal manner; Harry could see him wincing every time she called someone 'dearie'. That was a black mark against him, still … he was with sixth-year students and not Archie's class, so maybe not.

The bell signalled that lessons were over for the day, and Nott hadn't gone near a first-year. Harry felt like he had the wrong target. Why hadn't Hermione or Malfoy sent word? He ducked quickly under the south stairs, but they weren't there. The safest bet was to stick with Nott's dad.

"Harry Potter! Do _not_ move!"

The shrill voice of McGonagall rang through the entrance hall, and Harry thought fleetingly of ignoring it to follow the retreating back of Nott Snr. Too late. Her bony fingers were on his collar.

"I've been speaking to Professor Binns. You missed History of Magic, as did Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy. Explain."

"We … we all felt sick after lunch. We went to get some fresh air and … fell asleep …"

The most rubbish excuse in the world, an absolute stinker. McGonagall wasn't taken in for a moment. "Indeed?" She said, and then wished him well when he tried it on Professor Snape, before prodding him towards the dungeon.

Harry halted on the stairs as he heard Snape's voice; it was such a comforting sound, someone he could trust. It stirred a bit of panic in him at the thought of leaving Slytherin, and he stood momentarily helpless on the fifth stair down. He'd had enough of disasters and near-fatal adventures. A yearning for Snape's bonkers rule-laden regime swept over him. That's what he wanted; he wanted to stay down in the dungeons, feel safe with The Git watching over everything, and pull the occasional scam when things got too cosy and comfortable. Harry breathed deeply, but the fluttery panic wasn't going anywhere. Bloody hell, you berk! What a time to go wobbly! He forced himself to think gruesome thoughts. Awful pictures came into his mind of Archie - snatched, alone and frightened. Malfoy taunted and reviled - paying the price for whatever his git of a father had done. It was enough; he abandoned self-pity, and continued leaping down to the dungeon, four stairs at a time.

He pulled up abruptly on the bottom stair. Snape was speaking to someone obscured by the stone column. It was Mr Nott.

 **oOo**

 **4:15 pm**

"Are you and your colleagues finished for the day?" Snape enquired of Nott Senior.

"Almost. I haven't seen the lower school children, though I imagine they are the least affected by this tournament?"

"You'd be surprised." Replied Snape, "The mania sweeps down through the years until it reaches them. It's been virtually impossible to lay the solid foundations of learning that are necessary in the first year. I've always argued against this circus being held, Mr Nott …"

"Wilberforce, please."

"Wilberforce. It would please me greatly to have you see the lacklustre work my first-years have produced … and … perhaps make an adverse finding in your report?"

Why was Snape pushing Nott's dad to see the first-years, and Archie? Had they been wrong; did Snape know nothing of the mirror? Impossible. Perhaps he knew Nott's dad, and knew he wasn't a threat? Wilberforce Nott gave a nasty little laugh.

"Yes, Lucius told us of your likely objection to the Triwizard Tournament. I've heard you didn't fare well in quidditch, or any of the outdoor pursuits."

Harry couldn't see Snape, but he could feel the man growing prickly.

"I happen to believe that school is about a magical education, and securing the most of one's birth right. I fail to see how the ability to chase small objects on a broom aids a child in realising their superiority to the common muggle."

"Professor Snape … Severus? … I completely agree with you. There's a reason we trust you, and only you, with our children. And perhaps it would be a good idea to have a word with the younger children about their work."

"Thank you."

 **oOo**

Snape gestured to the open door of the common room, and started to follow Nott Snr inside when Pucey nodded to Archie Delingpole. At the nod, Archie flew around and kicked Armitage-Brown squarely in the shin.

"Stop telling me what to do, you arse! I was just about to do it!" He yelled.

Everything in the common room stopped at the outburst. Snape cut a swathe through shocked students to grab Archie by the shoulder, and give him a rough shake. Wilberforce Nott remained stonily impassive throughout the exchange, though his eyes never left the first-year.

" _Mister Delingpole_! You have been warned repeatedly about your fits of temper! But it would seem my warnings have fallen on deaf ears; you obviously require a more direct approach. Go and wait outside my study, nose to the wall. You will wait there until I return from talking to Mr Nott, and _don't dare move_!"

 **oOo**

Harry shot back onto the stairs as soon as the common room door opened, and then relaxed a little when he saw it was Archie. He wondered what the small boy had done. A trip to Snape's study was seldom a pleasant experience, but at least he'd be safe with his housemaster. A tall, slim figure moved into view, and Harry backed out of sight.

"I commend you, Severus, on maintaining standards." Said Wilberforce Nott.

"It's imperative, especially with the children in my house. It's their destiny to lead the wizarding world, and I will brook no laxity." Snape said, eyeing the hunched, small shoulders of Delingpole as he disappeared around the corner.

"Will the child do as he's told and wait outside your study?" Wilberforce enquired.

"He will. He knows disappointing me further will upgrade him to the cane."

Two thoughts struck Harry. Firstly, did Snape know he missed History of Magic? It was a poor time for self-interest and worrying about his own hide, but Snape seemed in a hell of a mood. More importantly, why hadn't he heard from the others? What if Sonningsby or Malfoy's dad were after Archie?

"If you come to the staffroom room with me, I'll be able to show you the substandard work most of the first-years have done."

Harry realised they were going to pass him on the stairs. What if Snape collared him for missing classes? He couldn't risk having his movements curtailed now. Hearing the sharp _ping!_ of Snape's leather soles on the stone floor, he pulled off his own shoes, padded down the stairs in his socks, and flattened himself against the stone column. As the two men walked past, Harry slid around the opposite side of the column, the only noise the scratch of his woollen jumper snagging on the stone. He waited until they were at the top of the stairs, and raced to Snape's office.

 **oOo**

No one. Deserted. Harry started scanning the alcoves.

"You won't find him here." Said Licorus Black.

"Where is he?" Demanded Harry.

"That is no concern of yours, young man. This is a Slytherin matter, and you, it gratifies me to say, will very soon _not_ be a Slytherin. Go back to the common room - while you're still welcome there."

Licorus Black … had to be a friend of Death Eaters, just had to be. Harry felt like pulling his portrait off the wall and kicking it down the corridor, but instead he ran up the stairs, and saw Malfoy and Hermione on the opposite side of the entrance hall, at the foot of the south staircase.

"Where've you been?!" He demanded of them, as they walked under the stairs.

" _Madam Puddifoot's_ , Potter. We took afternoon tea." Snapped Malfoy. "We've been following my father and Sonningsby, of course."

Hermione interrupted before any bickering could start.

"Sonningsby and Mr Malfoy are both with Dumbledore. I think they're leaving soon. It has to be Theo Nott's father, Harry. Is Archie safe down there?!"

"He's not there; I've looked!" Said Harry.

"He _must_ be. We've been watching and, the only people who came up those stairs are Snape and Nott's dad. There's no other way out. Go and check Snape's classroom and all his potions' cupboards. Granger, you take the first floor; I'll do the ground floor."

After Malfoy finished barking orders, they turned to leave when Hermione suddenly whirled round to face them again.

"So, yes Harry. I think you should practise with the Slytherins; it can only help you in the Third Task."

" _What_?" Demanded a bemused Malfoy and Harry.

"Good afternoon Professor Karkaroff." Hermione said a little too brightly, "May we be of assistance?"

"Delightful child." Oozed Karkaroff, his chin disappearing into a sinister smile. "I'm simply taking a stroll before dinner. No help needed with that, my dear, but I thank you sincerely."

With that, he left. Three likely Death Eaters prowling around, and now that slimy turd, thought Harry. What next? The trio shuddered at the encounter, then set about their business.

 **oOo**

Igor Karkaroff hadn't risen to the rank of Durmstrang Headmaster by being a fool. He knew he'd annoyed Snape with his endless visits to the dungeons; knew he hadn't been circumspect enough about the mark; knew that, at best, Snape's Slytherins laughed at him, or at worst, were repulsed by him. But he also knew the horror of what The Dark Lord and his followers were capable of. He'd seen it; he'd done it. Such cruelty it robbed even the perpetrators of breath and left them harrowed - all save The Dark Lord himself, and his most virulent of supporters. One such was here. Severus had warned he would come over a month ago in January.

Severus … Igor had been frightened of him. There'd always been something he couldn't figure out. He wasn't interested in status, or the stolen riches Voldemort dangled before his followers, which meant he joined either because he was a genuine believer - surprisingly rare among Death Eaters - or he had another unfathomable reason. That made him dangerous. But that January night Igor had seen what the reason was. Severus, like so many of them, regretted joining Voldemort; a regret it was impossible to act on. The only way out was death, and what a death it was; no traitor got the luxury of an Avada Kedavra.

The past month had been torture, but now the wait was over. The Ministry of Magic's official reason for the visit was risible. Wilberforce Nott had engineered a Ministry visit here to kill him; the man had always been a zealot. The Dark Lord was returning, and his senior ranks were preparing the way, disposing of the faithless who'd faltered at the Wizengamot. Karkaroff reached the boat shed, and slid behind the oar racks. His wand was in his hand; he'd be ready.

 **oOo**

 **5:15 pm**

Harry spent an age thoroughly searching the potions classroom, _and_ every cupboard he could find. No sign of Archie. He even went through Snape's study and office; the boy wasn't there. As his desperation grew, he heard the low murmur of Snape speaking with Licorus Black, and ran towards the sound.

" _Sir_! I can't …"

"Silence, Potter! I'll hear no excuses as to why you didn't attend History of Magic."

"It's not …"

" _Silence_!"

Why won't you bloody listen?! Frustrated, Harry turned to go and find Hermione and Malfoy - and immediately bumped into Wilberforce Nott.

"Wilberforce." Said Snape, "Did you find the music room? You've been gone some time. I do hope Flitwick didn't subject you to an interminable choir recital?"

"He didn't." Replied Nott Senior, "I'm afraid my time was taken up by Theodore. I needed to have a stern discussion with him. Fatherly duties, you understand."

"I do indeed."

'Fatherly' … Harry didn't think he'd ever seen a less fatherly person. Then Wilberforce Nott turned his gaze on him, and Harry retreated to Snape's side.

"The Potter child, I presume?"

Nott Senior's eyes had the uncanny ability to relay no emotion whatsoever. Harry supposed they were dark, like Theo's, but really they just appeared peculiarly lifeless, as if there were nothing behind them.

"This appears a less than opportune moment, but I've been assured you may know the whereabouts of Ezra Vickery. He's in the first year, I believe?"

Snape's hand squeezed Harry's shoulder so hard it sent a spasm of pain along Harry's right clavicle. Harry was glad of it; it stopped the gasp that was threatening to leave his mouth. Nott Senior was looking expectantly at him, but he had no idea what to say.

"Potter is a dolt, I'm afraid." Said Snape dismissively, "You'd do better directing your enquiries to the hatstand. Mr Vickery _is_ in the first-year, and I'm quite certain he's in cahoots with Delingpole. Unfortunately I was far too sanguine about Delingpole obeying me. He's taken off - almost certainly with Vickery. I'll deal with both of them when they return, but if you're keen to speak to Vickery, I suggest you look in the boatshed - out of bounds for the students, of course, but it's not unknown for those two to go there. I'd accompany you, but I'm afraid Mister Potter decided to miss his afternoon classes and is also in need of some firm discipline."

Harry listened to Snape's words, but couldn't work up any concern over them. He knew that Snape knew. All he could think was how grateful he was that Millicent enjoyed her revenge icy cold … if she hadn't connived getting he and Malfoy stuck in that sarcophagus, Malfoy would never have confided in him; would never have mentioned Ezra Vickery at all. He momentarily marvelled at the Platinum Ponce's cleverness.

He watched Nott Senior disappear quickly up the stairs; it confirmed everything for Harry. He hadn't seen his face outside the back of _The Hog's Head_ , but the long stride and jerky head movements instantly took Harry back to cowering under the cloak with Malfoy and Archie. Nott Senior had been chasing them at Hogsmeade; it chilled Harry how close he'd come to catching them.

" _Sir_!"

Snape shook the shoulder he still had hold of,

"So help me, Potter; you _will_ keep silent!"

For a second Harry thought he was going to follow up that command with an almighty wallop; the man certainly looked enraged enough. But whatever Snape's actions were going to be, they were forestalled by AB galloping down the staircase.

"Peter?" Asked Snape urgently.

It was the first time Harry had heard Snape use a first name.

"Not there." AB gasped.

Snape pulled the senior house prefect to an alcove at the side of the corridor to have a whispered conversation. Harry's ears almost defied the laws of evolution and grew stalks there and then. Almost. He heard the words 'practice', 'window', 'again and again', 'check once more', and 'alchemy', but nothing that made any sense. Then again, none of this made sense; he knew they were talking about Archie, but AB had come from the entrance hall. Archie had disappeared from the opposite direction, round the corner, outside Snape's study. He gave up on that conundrum when he saw AB and Snape disappearing up the stairs. Harry followed and called out "He's not outside the study!", but neither was listening.

 **oOo**

 **5:25 pm, The Boatshed**

The boats creaked and groaned in rhythm with the lapping of the water, but Wilberforce Nott had no time to be discomfited by such an eerie sound. He had to get this child beyond the school walls and apparate back to the Northumbrian cottage he'd rented, where the child would stay until his parents relinquished the mirror. It was tiresome the Vickery boy was here also. Alas and alack, Wilberforce feared young Vickery was about to learn a very harsh lesson on the wisdom of following school rules … so easy to take a tumble into the icy waters … bump one's head on the hull of a boat, and sink into the depths …

There were more boats than he remembered from his own schooldays. The mooring bays were full and yet more were hanging from the rafters; it made it difficult to see. Despite the urgency, he took it slowly; the last thing he needed was to spook young children. Easing himself around a wooden pillar, his eyes scanned the wooden floor for signs of life. Four boats over and behind the oar racks he spotted black wool dragging along the ground.

"You're much better off coming with me, you know. He knows where you are, and he'll be here soon."

It was too late that Wilberforce Nott saw the black wool belonged neither to Delingpole, nor Vickery. The green light from Karkaroff's wand had reached him and death was upon him.

 **oOo**

"He's not outside your study!" Repeated Potter for the seventh time.

"Enough!" Roared Snape, wheeling around on the narrow staircase. "This is not a game and you _will not_ interfere!"

Snape gave a muttered instruction to Armitage-Brown, and hurried him on his way. The housemaster reached the top, smoothed down his coat, and walked to the windows of the entrance hall to casually brush aside the curtains. Delingpole wasn't there. Where was he? The boy _knew_ the plan; they'd practised it time and again. Turning abruptly, he saw a mop of black hair breaching the top of the dungeon staircase. Severus raced over fully intent on boxing the meddling boy's ears. At the look of fury on Snape's face, Harry shied back, but Snape had him by his jumper and yanked him roughly forward.

"You've interfered, Potter. Where _is_ he?"

Harry's attention was captured by Karkaroff coming through a side door. He paused a fraction of a moment to nod at Snape, and continued on into the Great Hall, where several of his students were waiting for dinner. Snape saw him, but offered no acknowledgement. He looked back to Harry.

"I … I don't …" Began Harry.

Snape pulled him up by his jumper until he was standing on tiptoe.

" _Tell_. _Me_."

"I don't know!" Spluttered Harry, "I was following … couldn't see him … Malfoy and Hermione …"

At the mention of the Gryffindor girl's name Snape released his hold, and closed his eyes briefly. Potter's alcove! He started up the central staircase. Granger must have taken Delingpole there. Feeling as if his heart were about to explode from his chest, Snape swept aside the dusty tapestry. Empty. Snape fell back against the wall, and gave into his fears. What if Nott had snatched Delingpole before Karkaroff got to him? Severus' mind raced; Nott could have seen Karkaroff, despatched the boy to a hiding place and attempted to duel Durmstrang's headmaster. Had Nott had an accomplice waiting to receive Delingpole? Where would they be? Not at his home, that's for sure. He snapped to; this was getting him nowhere.

Where else could he try? The first and second-years had no secret hideout to his knowledge. He'd heard third-year Arno Van Den Berg whisper to Rupert Clovelly once about raiding the fourth-years' den and snaffling some of their tuck. He hadn't investigated further at the time, preferring to let his Snakes enjoy their minor rule-breaking. Now he wished he hadn't been so indulgent. The den could be anywhere, but if they had food there, the most logical place would be near the kitchens.

His Snakes were canny; if they did have a den here, they'd ensure no disapproving elves knew of it. He must have scoured a dozen assorted ice, game and smoking cupboards, but the kitchens and sculleries were a rabbit warren; Severus couldn't hope to search beyond every door. He leant against the wall and tried to think when slowly he realised what he was looking at.

Three years ago, Adrian Pucey had returned an hour after curfew smugly bearing a note from the headmaster. The note informed Snape that Albus was the cause of the boy's lateness; the two had got talking and Albus had fallen victim to nostalgia, regaling Pucey with his own school day memories. But though the writing was near-perfect, Pucey had made a fatal error; Albus Dumbledore would never spend over an hour chatting fondly with a Slytherin. Snape walked closer and inspected the doxy bait warning sign. This was Pucey's handiwork, and this was the fourth-year's den.

 **oOo**

A frightened gasp greeted the opening of the door. Theodore Nott stood huddled in the corner clutching his head, alternately shaking it and rubbing furiously at his eyes.

"I tried not to tell him. I _did_!"

Severus pulled the boy's hands away from his face.

"Theodore." Said Snape softly, "Theodore, stop rubbing; you'll hurt yourself."

"She won't go away! I can't get her out of my head, and she's in such pain!"

"Who?"

"Mother."

He'd never done it before, but it came so naturally in that moment. He put his arms around Theo and pulled him to his chest, rocking and shushing him whilst keeping the boy's hands at bay. Theo sobbed apologies to his mother for being 'bad', bad for not helping his father, and bad for causing her death. It dawned on Severus what Wilberforce Nott's 'stern discussion' had been, and for a moment he genuinely felt sick to his stomach. How long had Nott Senior punished his son by placing a tormented and immovable vision in his head? Small wonder Voldemort held him in such high regard. But as wretched and pitiable as Theo was, Snape had no time; he needed information. He needed to find Delingpole.

"I know you did your best, Theodore. And I know you're suffering, but try to tell me what happened."

"He realised Archie was hiding. He's been asking since the start of the year where the first-years go. I never wanted to find out … because I was too scared I wouldn't be able to lie to him. But one day, the day you got cross with him for throwing sprouts at Elsa, I saw him leave supper and go behind those curtains near the entrance. I … I've been punished like this before … but this time it seems so real …"

"This isn't punishment, Theodore. This is torture."

Snape ran the backs of his fingers softly down Nott's cheek to calm him and keep him speaking.

"He pulled me into a classroom, and demanded to know where Archie might be hiding. I didn't want to, but … but I took him to the curtains. Archie wasn't there. I've never seen father so angry; he took me back to the classroom and cast his spell and … and I came here."

Theo Nott didn't want to leave the confines of the fourth-year den, but Snape assured him that Nott Snr had left the castle. Snape looked down in despair as he watched the tortured child walk weakly down the kitchen corridor. One child missing and one child in torment. Snape's mind swam with worry, but he made a plan quickly; he had to find Delingpole, but first, Theo Nott needed to get to the hospital wing. He'd take Nott to the caretaker's office. Despite being shown how to, Argus Filch refused to use the floo out of sheer bloody-mindedness, but there was one there.

Severus looked over at where Filch's office was - opposite the dungeon staircase, by the windows of the entrance hall and near the kitchen corridor. It occurred to him that Argus might have seen something of Delingpole's movements. He wanted to get there fast, but Nott's progress was achingly slow. At that moment, black tousled hair and a brown bushy mop appeared. They ducked back down almost immediately, but Severus had seen them.

"Come here! Walk with Nott to Mr Filch's office," As Harry and Hermione neared him Snape grabbed them both. "Stand either side of him. _Don't_ speak. _Don't_ ask questions. No one else in Hogwarts learns of these events." He whispered hoarsely, and receiving two nods of compliance, he walked briskly to Argus Filch.

 **oOo**

Snape saw the curtain on the caretaker's window twitch, and wasn't surprised when the door opened ahead of him.

"He's here, Professor Snape; they both are."

Argus Filch stood aside to reveal Malfoy and Delingpole both jammed into Mrs Norris' armchair, the cat herself stretched across both laps demanding constant stroking. The urge came upon him to pull both boys into a hug, but he fought that one back and stood looking fierce, while feeling nothing but relief.

"Sir?" It was Potter. Snape reached for the black pot of floo powder and sent Nott, Potter and Granger to Poppy, telling them he'd be there soon.

He resumed his glowering, all the time running through the certainties in his head. Delingpole was safe; Potter and Granger had made certain of that. Merlin's magic would be removed from the mirror;Dumbledore would make certain of that. Nott's vision would be removed from his mind; he and Poppy would make certain of that. Wilberforce Nott was dead; Igor Karkaroff had made certain of that. But the great prize for Severus was none of those certainties, important though they were. Draco Malfoy, like Pucey, Urquhart and Blishwick before him had looked at his family and found them seriously wanting. He'd realised that the evil he'd grown up with, the 'Ezra Vickerys' of this world, were wrong and he'd thrown in his lot with Potter and Granger. The boy had a treacherous road to walk, and he might yet falter on the way, but Severus saw a glimmer of sunrise on the horizon. He was immensely proud of him.

Not that Draco could discern any warm feelings at that precise moment. He sat in the cramped armchair mentally listing all his misdeeds starting with the afternoon's truanting … and then he realised he truly didn't care how angry Snape was; he'd done the right thing.

"How did you find him, and why here?" Snape asked simply.

"He told me about it the night we were … umm …"

"Yes?"

"The night we were …"

Malfoy didn't want to mention what had taken place the evening Snape was away from the castle, but Snape already had a fair inkling.

"Whatever misdeed you and the other students perpetrated is absolved, Draco."

The rare honour of being addressed by his first name prompted Malfoy to tell all. He'd met up with Granger and discovered that both his father and Sonningsby were in the headmaster's study, preparing to leave. Archie was still in the dungeons; Potter had been watching and told them he'd been sent to Snape's study. They knew then that Nott Senior was the threat. What followed had been a frantic search for the boy; he hadn't come up the stairs, nor could he be found down in the dungeons.

"He used my floo to get to the old alchemy classroom on the second floor, and then he should have gone behind the curtains in the entrance hall, though I'm extremely glad you didn't, Mr Delingpole."

"I did." Archie said.

"He did." Confirmed Draco.

But as he and Hermione were coming down the south staircase, they'd spotted Nott Senior dragging his son off to an empty classroom.

"Archie's not the best at keeping secrets, sir. Sorry Archie, but you are a blabbermouth. I couldn't take the chance Theo wouldn't know about his hiding spot. He wouldn't want to tell his father, but Merlin sir, the look on that man's face was pure evil …"

Malfoy had sent Hermione to find Harry and apprise him of what was happening. In the meantime, he removed Archie to Mr Filch's office.

"Why here?"

Draco didn't get to answer. Argus gave a low cackle and supplied the answer himself.

" _We_ know, don't we Mrs Norris? I might not be magic, Professor Snape, but I can still turn invisible! No one pays any attention to me, especially not the likes of Wilberforce Nott."

"It's true, sir. My father would never enter the same room as a sq … _non_ -magical person, and neither would Mr Nott."

Severus, too, had been guilty of overlooking the squib caretaker. He suddenly felt very ashamed. The man had given him safe harbour from the Marauders without asking for explanation, and he hadn't thought of him once when making his plans for Delingpole. He levied his own penance and resolved to take the old crank with him on his next visit to _The Hog's Head_. His thoughts returned to the two boys in the armchair, and he beckoned for the recount to continue.

Malfoy had brought Archie to Filch, a refuge at the very heart of the action. He'd briefly stepped outside again to check that Hermione was alright, and that's when Nott's father had spoken to him. The man had even seen Malfoy leave the caretaker's office, but paid no heed to it. Instead he whispered in the boy's ear that a charming little first-year was in danger of being thrashed soundly by his housemaster, and Wilberforce would very much like him to avoid that. Did Draco, by any chance, know where a boy named Delingpole went to hide? No. Draco didn't know. But he did know that Archie was bound to be with his best friend Ezra Vickery, and he was certain Harry Potter or Professor Snape could tell him Vickery's whereabouts.

"Well done … well done."

It wasn't effusive praise; he didn't shower Malfoy with points, and the fourth-year knew Snape would never stand up in the Great Hall and regale the rest of Hogwarts with the tale. Then again, Malfoy wouldn't want him to. He'd pleased his housemaster, and Severus Snape was a housemaster worth pleasing.

 **oOo**

 **8:00 pm**

Snape sent Malfoy, Potter and Delingpole back to Slytherin; a late supper had been organised for them, and they were ordered to stay in the common room for the evening. Life, he decided, had been far too stimulating and the comfort that was routine would do them good.

"Miss Granger? Is your prep up to date?"

Draco and Harry snorted at the futility of the question, and Snape cuffed them both. Hermione assured Snape she'd done all her prep _and_ had finished reading next term's course books, as well as editing her self-study plan for the rest of the year.

"Then, if you wish, you may join your friends in the Slytherin common room for supper."

Soon after, Poppy Pomfrey bustled over and shooed out Snape and Dumbledore. The Dreamless Sleep had worked, and Theo would sleep for a solid fifteen hours, though it was only a temporary measure. She and Snape would need to start work countering Wilberforce Nott's spell later that evening.

 **oOo**

The two men leant on the banister outside the hospital wing, both looking down at the milling students on the lower floors. Snape felt a surge of jealousy and anger on behalf of his Snakes. What had they done to earn the almost universal scorn directed at them? Why didn't they enjoy an existence where the only concerns were having a girlfriend who liked your best friend more, or getting a 'P' on an assignment? And then the dictum that had guided his life came to mind, 'Life isn't fair'. It certainly wasn't. Dumbledore reached out and patted Snape's arm.

"You know, I still have _some_ friends in the Ministry, and the Chief Medical Wizard of St. Mungo's and I go a long way back. The problem that is worrying you no longer exists …"

"Headmaster?"

"Wilberforce Nott was pronounced dead on arrival at St. Mungo's an hour ago. Heart failure - they believe he'd had the condition some time; he really shouldn't have been wandering alone in the boatshed. But alas, I fear I have given you another problem … you have an orphan on your hands now, Severus."

Snape thought once more of his Snakes, and the gruesome parents so many had.

"I wish I had more." He replied. "However, I'm certain the Delingpoles would be happy to take in another son, particularly when they learn how Nott has suffered. Dim they may be, but they're kind and loving. A rare commodity amongst my students' parents, I must make the most of it."

"Talking of the Delingpoles, perhaps you'd like to read this?"

'This' was a hot-off-the-press evening edition of _The_ _Daily Prophet_. The front page showed a picture of Albus Dumbledore holding The Mirror of Merlin.

 **MIRROR OF MERLIN PROPERTIES HAVE BEEN A HOAX ALL ALONG**

Snape read below the photograph. Certain publications, not _The Daily Prophet_ of course, had been guilty of publishing fake news. The so-called Mirror of Merlin was neither magical, nor had it ever been lost. It had been given to _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ thirteen ago by Claude and Audrey Delingpole in recognition of the care shown to their tragically deceased sons, Christopher and Hugh. The article went on to question why Dumbledore had kept quiet about the mirror, despite rumblings in more scurrilous publications. It added a few digs about how forgetful Hogwarts' headmaster was getting in his old age, and questioned his ability to continue leading the world's foremost wizarding school. The mirror had been gifted to the Ministry, and would be placed in the foyer for all to see, "Everyone is free to go and look in the mirror," Albus was quoted as saying, "If anyone can find anything magical, then they're a better wizard than I!" The article finished with a snippy comment about superiority to Albus Dumbledore being a very low bar, but stated that the newspaper's own experts had indeed verified the mirror as non-magical.

"I hope that sets your mind at rest."

Snape let out a sigh.

"Thank you, Headmaster."

"Go and enjoy an evening with your students, Severus. I believe Poppy and I will be perfectly capable of curing young Theo."

Snape nodded his appreciation, and turned to leave.

"Just one more thing …"

"Headmaster?"

"Harry really is an exceptional child, don't you think?"

"As are my Slytherins … but yes, he's surprised me."

"He's done well in Slytherin." Said Dumbledore, "And I fear the next term looks set to be a difficult one for him …"

"Headmaster, what is it you're trying to say?"

Albus Dumbledore chose not to speak, but gave his (patent pending) 'twinkle-over-half-moon-glasses'. And for once, Snape wasn't overcome with the urge to pull out his wand and cast a pus-squirting hex. In fact, scuttlebutt amongst the castle's portraits had it that, alone on the staircase, the housemaster of Slytherin even smiled.

 **The End**


	34. Chapter 34

**Forgot to say**

Sorry! But I have mentioned before how hopeless I am with uploading etc. This message was supposed to be at the end of the story (I assume I wrote it, and then forget to hit 'save' - it's what I usually do):

That concludes ' _Harry Potter and the Mirror of Merlin'_ , but the Harry/ Slytherin saga will continue! The plot's all sketched out; I've had that in my head since day 1. So, while I can't change the story arc, I'd be very happy to try and accommodate any scenes that you might like to see - if you've read to this point, you'll have a general idea about what my version of the characters are like. No pressure! But I do hope some people will share some ideas - it gets quite lonely in my study!

I'm going to take a break, and recharge my batteries and then start writing. Hope to see you when the next instalment posts!


	35. Chapter 35

**Sequel Posted**

If anyone is interested, I've begun to post the sequel to this story. It's called ' _The Dark Reflection_ '. I hope some of you will join me again; I enjoyed your company so much last time!

Regards, Margot


End file.
